So Much for Fellowship
by Brandi N. Jones
Summary: AU. After the Fellowship has settled in to camp at Parth Galen, Legolas seeks out and confronts Boromir about his lust for the Ring. After the struggle is resolved, a new set of problems comes about.
1. Condemnation

_It should be mine! Damn that Hobbit! He only wants to destroy it so that he can go back to living in blissful ignorance! Always are they ignorant! The world around them crumbles, buckling beneath the influence of the Enemy, but all they care for is their isolated solitude! The Shire is cut off from the world, happily going about its business as it always has, while all around it the land is blackened with evil! They know nothing of the troubles Middle Earth has dealt with for centuries! They are useless! Selfish! Detestable!_

The shadowed figure sat alone with his dark thoughts on a log near the bank of the river Anduin, his elbows propped on his knees and his chin resting in his hands. The position seemed casual, but every muscle in the powerful body was tensed.

_It could be mine. I need only reach out and take it. How my fingers itch to hold it! What harm would it do if I borrowed it for awhile? I only wish to bring peace to my people! I would not use it for evil!_

_It could be mine. It _should _be mine. Long have my people fought bravely against the Shadow. This is Gondor's only chance for survival. I owe it to my father. I owe it to my people. I owe it to Middle Earth! It should be MINE! It should —_

The pleasant, alluring thoughts were cut short by the cold press of steel against his throat. His eyes widened. "I know your thoughts," a voice whispered darkly into his ear, each word punctuated carefully for precise emphasis. The utterance was a cold caress against his skin. "I know what you would do. And I will not have it."

The man had difficulty discerning the identity of the one who had spoken. His hand reached up and curled around the slim wrist that held the dagger under his chin, squeezing cruelly until the fingers slackened and the weapon fell useless to the ground. He released his attacker then, spinning to face him. He was not at all prepared for what he saw, and shock reverberated through him as he blurted, "Legolas."

"Boromir," came the stiff reply. The sound of his name was nothing like what he was used to hearing spill from the lips of the golden Elf. The lilting nature of the usual inflections of Legolas's words was gone, having fled in the face of his anger. In fact, upon closer inspection, Boromir realized that nothing about him was familiar. Rage rendered him almost unrecognizable. The fair countenance was contorted in fury, the eyes narrowed to glittering slits and the lips pressed tautly in a thin line.

Legolas also hardly recognized his comrade. The sweat-dampened strands of sandy hair fell limply in front of eyes glowing with dark purpose. The ugly thoughts the man had been entertaining were written clearly on every inch of his face, and the Elf blanched. Boromir was obviously not himself.

* * *

The two warriors circled each other warily, never taking their eyes from the other. Tension crackled between them. The irony of their situation was lost to neither of them. After all, they had fought bravely alongside one another until this point, looking out for and protecting the other with absolute resolution. No promise had been made between them, yet they had forged a bond of fraternity through a common purpose that existed no more. No longer were they brothers. No longer were they comrades. Now they were foes. So much for fellowship. 

The man was the first to attempt an attack. He lunged forward, but the Elf of Mirkwood proved quicker as he expertly dodged, allowing the other's momentum to bring him down. Stunned, Boromir lay staring up at the clear sky for a few seconds, trying to get his dazed mind wrapped around what had just taken place, but then a boot slammed into his chest, pinning him hard to the leaf-littered ground and knocking the breath from his lungs in a whoosh of air.

Legolas did not remove the crushing weight of his foot as he knelt, grabbing fistfuls of the other's tunic and dragging the man's face up until it was mere inches from his. He was utterly sickened by the desire he saw smoldering in the deep-set hazel eyes. Boromir was lost to them, Legolas knew suddenly, and despair almost overwhelmed him at that horrible truth. Boromir wanted to keep the Ring for the good of Gondor, not to destroy it for the good of Middle Earth, and it was too late to hope for his senses to return to him. He was lost. It was too late. It was painfully apparent that the Elf's patience had taken far too long to run out.

He had not trusted the man who represented Gondor from the very beginning of their tenuous acquaintanceship. He had seen Boromir eyeing the Ring lustfully at the Council meeting Elrond had summoned in Rivendell, but had also witnessed him bravely defeating dozens of Orcs in the depths of Moria, and this had restored his faith in the man's strength and nobility, soothing his concerns for Frodo and his heavy burden. Surely, Legolas had decided, if he could take on the sinister creatures loyal to Sauron, the son of Denethor was strong enough to resist the call of the Ring. How wrong he had been! The man could defeat everything but his own desire.

"I know your intent, son of Gondor," he ground out. Blue eyes blazed into Boromir — no, _through_ him. "And hear me, Elbereth, it will not come to pass as long as I draw breath."

Boromir knew what this Elf was capable of, and he fought valiantly against the instinct to wince. "You have no power against me," he snarled, "and I do not fear you."

The Elf smirked, seeing the lie for what it was. "I vowed to protect the Ringbearer with my own life, if need be, and if you are a threat, I must eliminate you. For Frodo I would do it gladly, but I do not wish to stain my hands with the weak blood of a mortal man."

Enraged, Boromir slapped Legolas as hard as he could manage. It connected with a force strong enough to snap the archer's head severely to the side, blond hair flying to cover his face and hide his slack-jawed expression of absolute stupefaction.

Boromir knew the element of surprise was his only advantage, and thus did not allow Legolas a chance to regain his senses in enough time to successfully retaliate. The man managed to pull both knees toward his chest and then used his strong legs to throw the Elf off. Legolas crashed into the thick trunk of a massive oak, letting out a yelp of agony as the gnarled roots that stuck up like curled fingers smashed into his side. He did not have a moment to catch his breath as the man hastily advanced toward him. When Boromir reached the prone figure, he stared down, his glaring eyes filled with dark mirth. "And you call yourself a warrior?" he sneered. "You are about as sturdy as a sapling, foolish prince."

Boromir expected a verbal comeback. He certainly was unprepared for a physical one. Legolas expertly wrapped a foot around the other's ankle, yanking the man off his feet with one swift tug. There came a satisfying thud as Boromir landed in an unceremonious heap. Having properly quelled the threat, Legolas stood finally, his expression disgusted as he brushed himself off and then spun on his heel to leave. But this man would not so easily be defeated. The moment the prince turned his back, believing his mission complete and meaning to walk away from the skirmish before things got even worse, Boromir took advantage of the opportunity awarded him, leaping to his feet. He sprinted toward and slammed full-force into the retreating form. Both man and Elf went down hard, tumbling over and over through the dry leaves that blanketed the forest floor in a frantic struggle for dominance.

"The Ring will tear your mind asunder, Boromir!" Legolas cried as their thrashing limbs tangled together, desperate to make his friend see how misled he was to think the bane of Isildur could be anything but evil and terrible. "It will drive you first to madness and then to despair!"

"The Ring is the last hope for my people!" the other thundered, for the moment crushing the Elf beneath him and glaring down at him. "I will not let an impetuous young Elf stand in the way of keeping my promise to my father! I am a man of my word! Men have struggled against the might of Sauron long enough! The Ring will make things right again! It is the only chance we have left for survival against the shadows that threaten to consume our city! Our peril is great, and its power is enough to protect us!"

"It will _destroy _you!" Legolas's eyes were brimming with tears as he looked up at Boromir, who had risen to his feet once more and was hovering threateningly above him. The ageless blue orbs pleaded with him to listen. "And what of your promise to Frodo? You gave _him_ your word also! Have all traces of honor forsaken you in your greed?"

"It will _save Gondor!_" the man shouted, furiously driving his boot into the Elf's exposed stomach. Legolas cried out as Boromir's foot connected with vulnerable flesh. Instinctively, he curled into a protective fetal position, and was immediately rewarded with a swift kick to the left kidney. Gasping as pain flowered through him, he squeezed his eyes shut, hot tears spilling from their corners to trickle onto the ground.

Boromir was on top of him again in an instant, his heart unyielding to the pitiful picture the golden prince made in his agony. He shifted all his weight atop his opponent, pressing his knees into the archer's chest with dreadful force. "Honor, be damned — _Frodo_ be damned — the Ring will be mine!" he growled, closing his hands around the graceful neck and constricting brutally. He watched with sick fascination as the blue eyes widened in mounting horror at the realization that this could easily become a fight to the death. The man was perfectly willing to kill him over the Ring, and he watched this knowledge creep over the Elf's face. Legolas's fear, normally hidden by a careful and impenetrable mask of stoicism, was betrayed by his horrified expression. Legolas had foolishly underestimated how far Boromir might be willing to take this. It seemed fate had decreed that he would pay the highest price for his fierce loyalty to the young Hobbit from the Shire. He would pay with his life.

He had already made peace with the resolution that he would die for this cause if he had to, and indeed harbored no qualms whatsoever about that prospect, but this was not the way he intended to do it.

* * *

It seemed forever dragged by as Legolas fought for air before unconsciousness began tugging insistently at the edges of his spirit. But he would not give up so easily. Blindly, his hands fluttered up and locked around Boromir's, trying vainly to loosen the offending grasp. Then the Elf thought better of it, reared his arm back, and sent his elbow smashing into the other's face. Screaming in rage, Boromir fell onto his side, cupping his hand over his nose as bright blood ran from it. There came a blur of gold and green, and then Legolas was upon him. 

Boromir's free fist twisted in the pale hair ruthlessly enough to elicit a cry of agony from the prince, but Legolas did not relinquish his position of control. "The Ring will never be yours!" he declared through teeth gritted with the effort to hold the body of Boromir beneath him. His own body was screaming in agony.

"And who will stop me? Frodo does not have the strength to defy me," Boromir sneered, blood still dripping from his nostrils to collect in his unkempt hair. "If I so wished, I could dispose of him easily, much as I intend for you."

Legolas maneuvered easily to yank the other to his feet without sacrificing his advantage. He took him by the shoulders and shook him hard enough to make his teeth rattle. "You will not lay a hand on Frodo," he hissed. "Do you understand?"

"Frodo is hardly sturdy enough these days to stand on his own two feet. How would he succeed in stopping me?"

"Then why do you suppose a Hobbit carries the Ring, rather than a man?" the prince deadpanned. "Even Frodo, a creature more than half your size and weakened by the evil that casts its dark influence over him, is stronger than you."

"The Ring would be better carried by me. The Halfling's resolve is decimated by its promises; he is tempted by its call even as I am. Do you not see? He is no more suited to destroy it than Isildur. Elrond is a fool to think Frodo should bear the burden."

"We all will help Frodo bear it. We each have a part to play in aiding the Ringbearer. Gandalf advises him with his endless wisdom. Aragorn, Gimli, and I protect him with our respective weapons. The other Hobbits bolster his courage with their unfaltering optimism and playful banter." His grip on the tensed shoulders tightened. "And for _your _part, you will leave him alone. If you try to harm him, none of us will take pity on you for your destroyed mind. I know your skills with a sword and would not seek to discredit them, but believe me, son of Denethor, seven to one is more than even you can come out of with success. Not only are the odds stacked against you, the Fellowship is as well. Mind your step. I know your dark thoughts, and Aragorn suspects as much."

"I do not fear the Fellowship, Aragorn especially. The heir of Isildur will never rise to his destiny. He will never be more than a tracker, a healer, a ranger. He will forever be limited by his lack of bravery. Aragorn is _weak."_

Legolas's reaction was instantaneous. He grabbed the man of Gondor roughly by his powerfully broad shoulders, slamming him into the trunk of a nearby tree. The Elf looked as if he wanted to strangle Boromir with his bare hands. His lips curled into a snarl. "Do not _ever _speak that way about Aragorn again," he all but shouted. "_EVER!_ That man will be your king someday, and if I must, I will follow you to his crowning ceremony and force you onto your knees in deference to him! You will lower your chin when he addresses you if I have to take you by the hair and drag your head down myself. You will _respect _him or live to regret it. By the Valar, Boromir, I swear it!"

Boromir laughed cruelly. "You and your stupid ranger sicken me."

"_You_ sicken _me,_ Boromir," Legolas announced, shaking his head. His face was contorted in disgust. "You and your stupid Ring sicken me, and I would like nothing more than to destroy you once and for all before you destroy Middle Earth once and for all, but to my mind you are not worth my energy. It would better be exerted for the protection for good rather than wasted on the protection from evil." He released Boromir then, backing away, shoulders slumped. There would be no reaching the senses of the man now, he knew. He wanted only to walk back to the small camp the Fellowship had taken respite in, and forget that this whole thing had ever happened. He was too late.

He sighed. "Go now, Boromir, and snuff the fires of your temper before returning to camp. I do not wish to worry the others." The Elf turned then, meaning once more to walk away from the confrontation, but again he quickly regretted his gesture of clemency as his sharp ears detected a cold, metallic ring as Boromir unsheathed his sword from its ornate scabbard.

"I will not stand to have you insult me, son of Thranduil." The hatred the prince perceived in the other's voice at once chilled his heart and seared his soul.

Turning back to face the threat, Legolas did not hesitate to return the gesture of warning. He quickly reached behind him and drew his long knives. "Nor will I stand to have you threaten the well-being of the Ringbearer for your own selfish reasons." His quiver and bow he set against a tree, knowing that his favored long-range weapon would do him no good in such an intimate confrontation. All this was done without so much as glancing away.

"And destroying the last hope of Middle Earth is not selfish?!" Boromir growled.

Deep blue eyes locked now onto Boromir's face, ablaze with rage. "Stand down, mortal," he ordered coolly, leveling his knives at chest-level and standing stiffly, ready to leap forward at any moment should the action prove necessary. "You are a fool indeed if you think you could kill me."

"Your touting of your immortality is futile," the man sneered, "for I know that it only makes you eternal, not invincible. A child of the Firstborn may still die upon the sharp end of a sword."

Legolas sighed. "I do not wish to kill you. We were friends once, if you can be bothered to ignore the call of the Ring long enough to think for yourself and recall it. Once we fought on the same side. Have you already forgotten?"

"I never much cared for you, Elf. I always knew you might prove too perceptive for your own good."

"I have tried to be fair with my assumptions about you. I even sympathized with your ignorance at the Council, Boromir," Legolas said. "You had no idea then what this weapon of the Enemy could do. You did not know its evil purpose, but now don't you see what it is doing to Frodo? How it deteriorates him? Would you wish that degradation of spirit on yourself? Is the Ring worth more than your dignity?"

"This is none of your concern, Legolas!" Boromir snapped. "Your people are leaving these shores. What need have you to stay and defend these lands? Men will prevail. We will restore Middle Earth to the glorious days of our forefathers. The Elves will fade until they are nothing but the stuff of legend. And men will govern all, and this world will flourish for it. Your work here is over."

Legolas's eyes snapped fire. "This is my world too!"

"Your time here wanes. The Elves have controlled Middle Earth long enough. Give Gondor a chance to rule. We are a valiant nation of men."

"I do not plan to leave Middle Earth for many centuries yet. My work here is far from over. I would see these lands restored, the kingdoms rebuilt, and allegiances reformed. And I do not wish to work beneath the shadows of Sauron any longer! If the Ring falls into the hands of the men of Gondor, however valiant they may be, Boromir, no force will stop the armies of the Dark Lord from taking the city and recapturing their prize."

Boromir frowned. "We have long held the host of Sauron at bay and kept him from sundering our home."

"As have my people," the Elf returned, "and Mirkwood is closer to Mordor than your city. We Elves are not foolish enough —or arrogant enough, perhaps— to believe we are enough to contend with Sauron. It will take the union of every army fighting for prosperity to defeat the Eye and those who are loyal to it. One nation is not nearly enough, even yours."

"With the help of the proud men of Gondor, I could crush Sauron."

"You are nothing but a weakling. You cannot keep your eyes, mind, or heart off a tiny circle of gold. It drives you to distraction in a time of war! You cannot focus on what needs to be done for your lust for power and dominance! And you think your people will have the strength of spirit to lead this world after the Elves have gone?"

Boromir chose to ignore the insults. He smirked. "It calls to you even as it does me. Do not dare to insult me with futile denial. It whispers promises of valor and power into your pointed ears as well, dear prince, and I know this with absolute certainty."

"Aye," Legolas answered coolly, "it calls to me. But when the Dark One uses the Ring as his vessel of communication to me, I hear naught but falsehoods and deceptions. I do not crave valor or power. I do not wish to be King of Mirkwood, much less of Middle Earth. I hope that my father never abdicates his throne —or Valar forbid, is slain— for I am wholly content as a prince of my forest and I wield my authority only when necessary to protect my people.

"I do not allow others to bow to me, and would never expect deference. I am an equal, and I do what I can with the power given me, and do not wish for more. Why is that not ever enough for you? Why must you greedy men always desire _more?_

"Above all else, I crave _peace_, and the Ring will never be able to grant that."

A tense moment of silence followed. The two warriors still held their weapons trained on each other, but neither made a threatening move. Their discussion had cooled their tempers for the moment at least.

Boromir tightened his hold on his sword's hilt, but only in frustration, not intent to make use of it. "The Ring promises eternal life, fame, and power, if not literally, then at least in legends and lore. For you, it is not alluring, for you are already immortal, well-renowned, and royal. All this is a given. For men, it is different. We live briefly and then we die. If we wish to be remembered, we must do valiant things worthy of the scrolls of history."

Boromir was utterly speechless as he watched a single sparkling tear slide down the pale cheek. Legolas turned his face away sharply, mortified, closing his eyes. It took all the man's resolve to steel himself against the shock and pity that coursed over his spirit.

The Elf refused to look at the man. He was clearly ashamed, but when he spoke, his voice betrayed none of it. "Immortality is a curse as well as a blessing. To be forced to live forever, watching those you love and those who love you be claimed by the cold hand of Death, and knowing that you will never see them again. That is the irony of immortality: it offers no ability to stay or even slow the inevitable ends of others, and no advice to assuage the pain of outliving."

Boromir shook his head. None of this made sense to him! He wanted to know what forever felt like! Why was that so much to ask? He did not understand why anyone would speak ill of such a wondrous present from the powers that be, and nothing about Legolas gave Boromir reason to think he deserved it. And yet he, along with the rest of the Firstborn, would survive on and on until he tired of these lands and answered the insistent call of the sea, while mere mortals such as himself would be forced to succumb sooner or later to the call of death. For them, leaving these lands was not a choice. It was the cruelest fate.

"You would tout and then renounce your granted eternal life? I would give anything for that gift, and you think nothing of it! If all Elves think as you do, each one of you is a disgrace to your maker! Ilúvatar ought to be ashamed of you, Legolas!"

The Elf seethed before him, but said nothing. He did not wish to offer credibility to the stupidity of the man's words by acknowledging them. That did not, of course, mean they did not infuriate him.

Thunder rumbled threateningly above the two warriors. They did not even appear to hear it. They were languishing now in a silent stare-down.

* * *

Boromir's patience proved inferior. He broke the solitude of the stalemate. Howling a battle cry, he rushed toward Legolas, who readied himself by spreading his feet, effectively assuming a better fighting stance. Narrowing his sharp eyes, he watched Boromir's rapid approach. 

Suddenly, everything was quiet, as if the whole world watched the attack with bated breath. The man swung the gleaming sword in a graceful arc. The silver blade whistled as it sliced through the air, descending upon its target with mind-boggling speed. If Legolas failed to stay the progress, it would undoubtedly divide the Elf completely and neatly in half.

Fortunately, Elven reflexes proved reliable. Legolas lifted his crossed knives at precisely the right moment and caught the sword of Gondor between them. A shower of hot sparks exploded as metal screeched shrilly upon metal. He grunted with the effort of halting the rapid, deadly descent of the heavy sword. His wrists ached in agony, but his trembling fingers held fast to his weapons' hilts, the knuckles white with strain.

Bracing his feet, Boromir stood his ground. His unwavering determination was clear on his face, but his arms were positively shaking with the strained effort of holding his opponent at bay.

Legolas locked his elbows and lunged forward, shoving Boromir backwards with astounding strength. The man stumbled.

Boromir spun, swinging his mighty sword. Had Legolas not ducked, it would have severed the blond head cleanly at the neck.

Retaliation was swift.

The lithe warrior's movements were in perfect rhythm, like poetry in motion. His knives flashed in the foliage-filtered sunlight as they sang a fell song of death. He leapt forward and slashed with unparalleled speed, agility, and precision borne of centuries of practice and experience.

Time skidded to a halt as his left blade sliced through vulnerable skin. They both froze in sudden understanding of the startling turn of events. _Checkmate._

Legolas seemed almost as startled by his successful hit as his opponent, who let out a howl of agony. They both watched with morbid interest as hot blood spurted from the laceration on his right bicep, staining the crackling leaves at their feet a deep crimson.

Utterly caught up in the moment, Legolas had no time to react as Boromir cuffed him, and he fell against an enormous boulder with a surprised cry, slamming into the unyielding rock. Releasing a rather loud string of Elvish obscenities, he tried to stand, but Boromir's right foot connected severely with his chest. Legolas opened his mouth to scream in anguish, but no sound came out. There was simply no air! He could hardly bring himself to inhale. When he finally managed to suck air into his burning lungs, his ribs shouted in protest, and he could only gasp. They were at best fractured, and at worst broken. The man stepped forward and continued his assault, striking the archer on the side of his head with the hilt of his sword. The impact was unbelievably afflicting, consolidated in that one area with such force that it broke the delicate skin of the scalp. Warm, sticky blood oozed from it, mingling red with gold as it streaked through his hair. Legolas's sight blurred, but he fought to remain alert. He could not afford to fall into blessed oblivion, although with the pain he was suffering, it seemed awfully tempting.

But Boromir was advancing quickly, and Legolas knew he had to get to his feet before the man could do more damage, and it was horribly clear from the malicious glint in the hazel eyes that that was exactly what he intended to do, should the Elf give him the chance. For the life of him, however, Legolas could not get his shaking legs to cooperate. The pain was so intense it made his vision swim. He groaned in misery, struggling to rise, and managed to lift himself almost halfway before tipping forward and landing on his knees. There he knelt, too tired to do anything more, his shoulders slumping and his head lowering in shameful defeat. Boromir was upon him then. He grabbed a greedy handful of the abundant blond hair which had fallen forward to curtain his face. He yanked viciously, forcing the kneeling warrior to look up. Legolas stared up at him, hate burning in his clear eyes, but Boromir was undeterred.

"Stupid Elf," he growled. "You will not get in my way. The Ring should have been entrusted to me. I would see my city restored to all its blinding glory! I would see the Tower of Ecthelion shimmer brilliantly in the midmorning sun! I would see my father's assumed kingdom stand strong against the forces of evil! What gives you the right to begrudge me such a simple desire?!"

"You are an idiot, Boromir, if you believe the Ring could serve any will but Sauron's! You cannot wield it for any purpose other than vengeance! It is evil!"

Boromir struck again the insolent Elf. His voice was chilling as he declared, "You would take the Ring if you believed it could save your home! If it could protect Mirkwood, you would steal it as I would! You are as bound to that green forest as I am to that white city, Legolas, and if you love it as much as you say, you would do anything to keep it safe and see it flourish!"

"I would not bring that wretched thing within five hundred leagues of Mirkwood!"

"You lie," spat Boromir. "You may not long for power, but you long for prosperity. The Ring could grant that, if only you wield it for the right reasons."

"Frodo bears the Ring! It is his burden! He made the choice to carry it when no one else would! What gives _you _the right to declare it yours? If you desired it so desperately, why did _you _not take it at the Council?"

Boromir frowned. "Frodo? Frodo. Always Frodo! Curse Frodo! I have done nothing to Frodo! Everyone worries for him, but you find it appropriate to threaten me without warrant for his sake! Why do you insist on delivering a preemptive accusation against actions I have never committed?"

"It is only a matter of time," the Elf answered calmly. "Clearly you are not in possession of enough self-control to resist the sickness within you."

"My, but you are arrogant, son of Thranduil. Arrogant, and a hypocrite. You possess not the self-control to resist the temptation to threaten me, and over such a trivial matter!"

"I did not threaten you because I was spoiling for an argument! I am trying to help you, Boromir! Can you not see that through the haze of your twisted lust?"

"The Ring is MINE!" the man thundered, suddenly leaping toward the other warrior in a rapid attack. Legolas stepped aside, then kicked Boromir's now quickly passing form, and he fell with a resounding thump, dropping his blade in the long grass.

"It will never be yours." Legolas spoke with total conviction, ire lacing each word. After a few minutes, Boromir turned over limply, his muscles aching from the collision with the very solid forest floor.

Suddenly, a flash of silver drew his gaze, and the man was shocked beyond belief by the dire circumstance he found himself caught in now. A blade nicked again at the skin of his throat, this time drawing beads of bright red blood. _How did we come full circle back to this moment?_ he thought warily, then decided with no lack of derision, _Perhaps it's Elf-magic. They've learned how to travel back in time._ Indeed he was realizing quickly that he was in the very same predicament he had first faced before this ugly confrontation had really escalated into full swing. It was not a knife of Elvish making, however, that Legolas gripped between hands slick with sweat. Not this time. This time, it was the sword of Gondor. The irony of being threatened with his own weapon was not lost on Boromir, but he hardly had the time to mull it over.

"I should kill you now," the Elf mused aloud in a chilly murmur. "I should end your miserable life. It is painfully clear to me that you will only cause this Fellowship grief, should I allow your skulking existence to continue. You are worthless now that the Ring has taken hold of your soul and sundered you from your sense of reason. It steals your very essence, Boromir, and fills the void with dark magic. I will never trust you again, and I cannot afford to be so distracted in such a dangerous quest. There are more important things to consider now than the life of one man."

"Then kill me," Boromir hissed.

Legolas gritted even white teeth, wanting more than anything to make good on his word. He tried, but his mind kept insisting that he have mercy on the man, who clearly was beside himself with greed and lust beyond his control. The Ring had that effect on everyone who listened to its taunting whispers. Even Frodo seemed to sway under its influence. He had watched the desire flicker through the Hobbit's eyes, had seen him grip the dreaded thing through the fabric of his shirt and smile in relief that it still hung there. It obviously drove him to distraction. A strange thought occurred to him, pulling him from his anger into introspection. Rationalization, even. Would he kill Frodo, if the small creature exhibited the same symptoms? _No! I could never! But with Boromir…it is different. He is dangerous. Frodo is innocent and unskilled. Boromir is quite adept with a blade, and as such could easily kill us all if we stand in the way of his beloved lust-object…perhaps I should see to it that he never has the chance…_

* * *

Just as his resolve to do what had to be done for the good of the others was settling into terrible place, the Ring released Boromir from its foul embrace. Suddenly, the shadow lifted from the man's gaze, startling the Elf. Boromir's face went lax for a moment, and then his expression turned to one of honest confusion as he realized the Elf was holding him at knifepoint; and with his own sword, no less. "Legolas?" he asked haltingly, his voice meek. "What are you…" He trailed off in shock. 

The archer lowered the tip of the sword hesitantly, unsure if he could trust the man. Could this be a ruse? However, Boromir made no move to take advantage of the grace offered, and Legolas relaxed slightly with a sigh of relief. Either Boromir had fought against the shadow and won, or the Ring had simply tired of its seduction of him and had released him. Either way, for the time being at least, the terrible malice had fled.

"You are hurt!" Boromir exclaimed, suddenly noticing the blood that dripped from the tips of the golden hair. "Who did this?!" he roared, leaping to his feet and looking around angrily as if hoping to see the retreating form of some enemy. Legolas could not fight a tired smile. This was the Boromir he knew. Always the protector, this soldier of Gondor.

"You," he replied simply. He immediately regretted admitting the truth when he saw the reaction it invoked. The man's mouth dropped open as if his jaw had come unhinged. He just gaped, looking beside himself with horror. Ashamed for his brutal honesty in the face of such pitiful bewilderment, Legolas dropped his gaze. Seeking to distract himself, he bent at the waist gingerly, intending to wipe the blood from the shining shaft of the sword in the grass. Quickly he straightened with a gasp, his hand flying to his injured ribcage, as if afraid it had cracked anew with the motion. His bruised abdomen was aching from the movement too, and his stomach churned with the assault of pain. His eyes drifted closed as he sucked in a pained breath. Elbereth, but Boromir had wounded him far worse than he had first imagined.

The man was watching this awful sequence of pathetic events with misty eyes, his expression as miserable as if his heart had been rent in two. He thought the only injury he had visited upon the fair Elf was the head-wound. Apparently, he had wreaked absolute havoc on the slender body. "Oh, Legolas, what have I done?" he asked, his voice barely above a meek whisper as he fought to speak around the lump that formed in his throat. "What madness brought me to commit this atrocity?"

"The Ring," came the dry response. Boromir was not surprised by this revelation, but he was disgusted and angered that the stupid adornment had caused such strife between the prince and himself. However, he was relieved to notice that the Elf's voice was devoid of the disgust and anger he felt so strongly. His stomach knotted as he realized that Legolas simply sounded exhausted, and he was not entirely sure that that was any better.

Boromir hung his head. "I am so sorry, Legolas. Please do not take my actions as evidence of hostility. I assure you I feel nothing but respect for you, and I am utterly furious to know I caused you such harm. I cannot imagine the dark forces that possessed me to do such a thing."

"You were not yourself," the Elf offered wearily in explanation. Carefully he took the still-bloodied sword by the blade, offering its hilt to Boromir, who regarded it with eyes wide with apprehension as though dreading what might occur should he have his hands on it again. Seeking to reassure, Legolas grinned weakly. "It matters not. Consider it forgiven, son of Denethor." Warily, Boromir accepted the weapon and quickly sheathed it without so much as glancing at it. He obviously no longer trusted himself.

"Leave me," Boromir whispered, but the words were without fury. It was more a pathetic plea than a harsh command.

"Boromir—"

"No, please, I know what you would say. Please do not tell me that it is all right. It is _not _all right. Things will never be all right again. I threatened, attacked, and wounded a Firstborn. How will I ever redeem myself? No. Leave me, please. I will not take a chance and possibly hurt you again, Legolas. I will be fortunate indeed if I ever can live with myself knowing the wrong I have already done to you."

The Elf stepped lightly up to his side, placing a consoling hand on the slouched shoulder. "You were not yourself," he repeated quietly, his long fingers squeezing in a gentle, brotherly gesture of unity, "but I am glad you have returned."

Boromir sighed, looking down at the pale hand that ensured the sweet grasp the Elf had offered. His thoughts were sorrowful. _To have felt a touch of immortality in the touch of an immortal. May that be enough. May you never long for more._


	2. Absolution

The Elf's words were meant to comfort, but the fact that he offered forgiveness so readily only made the man of Gondor feel like the world's biggest wretch. "Legolas, for what it's worth, I appreciate your amnesty, but I do not expect to find absolution for what I've done for quite some time yet."

"Consider it forgiven," he repeated softly, then released his brotherly grasp and moved as if to retrieve the bow he had abandoned, but seemed wary of bending.

Boromir was quick to offer his assistance. He also noticed the white knives glinting dully in the grass where they had fallen during the skirmish, and picked them up as well. He wisely did not say a word as he gathered the weapons, knowing that he could very easily do even further damage to the proud Elf's dignity.

Legolas shot him a noncommittal look as he accepted the proffered items, but his eyes glittered with relief and appreciation.

"I will return shortly," Boromir told him, "after I have made a little sense of this all and can think clearly again."

The Elf did not respond for a moment. He was busy cleaning the blood from his left knife with his gray cloak. He looked up as he slipped both blades back into the sheath nestled against his quiver and settled the strap over one shoulder. Legolas was silent for a moment, as if unsure that he should leave Boromir and risk him slipping back under the spell of the Ring. His judgment warred with itself for a moment, but then he nodded to his friend. "I will see you at the camp, then."

* * *

Legolas returned to the campsite near the river Anduin's edge, leaving Boromir to lick his wounds and come to terms with the reality of his circumstances. 

He could hear Aragorn and Gimli discussing the merits of stone construction and the Hobbits bickering amongst themselves long before he reached the place where they had set up camp some hours earlier. When he came into view, however, everyone fell silent.

The other members of the Fellowship were startled beyond comprehension by the sight of the Elf. His dishevelled appearance was far from what they had come to expect of the fair prince of Mirkwood, who always appeared put-together to a point just this side of vain.

During the vicious spar, the flaxen hair had come free of the thin plaits that had secured it. Tight waves crimped the top half, which lay haphazardly over his tunic in disarray. Blood stained locks of it a strangely pale crimson, mud was caked in it, and leaves were woven through the tangled locks. His warrior's finery was covered in a fine spray of blood. His bow he held in limp fingers, and his quiver of arrows was slung absently over one shoulder.

Not surprisingly, the sensitive Ringbearer was the most shocked out of all of them. His wide blue eyes were dark with confusion as they regarded the lithe Elf, but as he passed by Legolas simply ruffled the mop of curly hair and offered a soft, reassuring smile that Frodo was quick to return gratefully, seeming slightly comforted.

The archer intended to head straight for his bedroll, but stopped short when he met the glare Aragorn had leveled upon him. Legolas opened his mouth, but did not have a chance to speak before the ranger stalked up to him, grabbed him by the elbow, and veritably dragged him a few feet away from the campsite.

The man looked him over, and his brows furrowed, his eyes glinting with a trace of irritation. Aragorn seemed to inherently understand what had transpired. Legolas had been gone for quite awhile, which, to be fair, wouldn't be unusual under normal circumstances. The Elf liked his privacy. But then there was the fact that Boromir as well had been absent. It wasn't an enormous challenge to put two and two together.

"What happened to you?!" the man hissed. "You look like you have just returned from battle!"

For his part, the Elf just smiled dryly. "You could say that."

"Oh, Legolas, what did you do to him?" asked Aragorn, his tone heavy with concern and dread. He was not angry, for he knew Legolas was not given to fits of temper unless real reason drove him; however, he as well knew the prowess of the Elf in sparring. He worried for Boromir's sake.

"The Ring and its keeper are safe," replied the archer calmly. His expression betrayed nothing as he shrugged elegantly.

Aragorn released a frustrated sigh. "Is he still breathing?" the ranger inquired, not a trace of humor in his voice.

"Of course," Legolas answered with a snort hardly befitting an Elf of his breeding and stature. "He is only a bit riled. I barely nicked him with my knife, and we tussled a bit, but other than that he is completely unharmed. If you must know this to understand that I was not taken by insanity: Boromir drew first against me. I only wanted to confront him verbally. I never wished for it to escalate to a physical confrontation."

"I don't care who started it, Legolas; you two are not children. I cannot speak for Boromir's temper, but you are more mature than this."

"Look at me, Aragorn!" His friend spread his hands wide in a gesture of supplication. "Look at me! Do you honestly believe this was the work of a sane man?! What would you have me do the next time he assaults me, Aragorn? Shall I just stand there and let him maim me beyond recognition?"

"Lower your voice," Aragorn whispered as he glanced furtively toward the foursome huddled together by the fire. Gimli was not his concern; he had fallen asleep and still snored on, oblivious to the bickering between the two longtime friends. "You are frightening the Hobbits." His words hit their mark, and Legolas's eyes darkened. Surely he did not wish for that! He felt a twinge of regret as he looked over his shoulder and found that the small creatures were studying him worriedly, their eyes large and fearful.

"The Ringbearer is safe," Legolas repeated, much softer now. "That is what matters."

"What _happened_ back there?" the ranger asked in a tight tone. He was obviously tiring of these cryptic responses.

"It is under control." The archer refused to say more, which further annoyed Aragorn.

"He could have killed you!" Aragorn's hold on his temper was slipping. "Do you know the danger of the situation you stepped into?"

The blond Elf folded his arms across his chest. "This whole journey is dangerous, Aragorn."

"Then do not further endanger yourself!"

"Far be it from me," Legolas intoned.

His friend frowned at him as he raked his fingers through his dark hair, annoyed with his sarcasm. "Legolas, this quest is causing enough emotional duress as it is, and tensions between the members can only further complicate things. As the new leader of this Fellowship, I must know when confrontations arise, and deal with them as a mediator, but I cannot do this without the cooperation of everyone. You are being very difficult, and consequently you are making my duty that much more difficult to uphold. I wish that you would desist with your vigilantism."

"Vigilantism?! Nay, Aragorn, this was not about justice. This was about safety, and not just for the Nine Walkers, but for Middle Earth. He wants the Ring, Aragorn, and you know what would happen if no one stopped him from taking it. I did what had to be done. I observed a problem, and quelled it before it could grow into a catastrophe. After all, is that _not_ our purpose here in this Fellowship, Aragorn?" The bright eyes searched his. "Is it not our duty to protect Frodo from danger, both present and perceived?"

When there was no immediate response, Legolas shook his head. "I am tired, Aragorn. May I return now? Is this discussion over?"

Sighing, the man nodded, then watched as his friend walked back to the fire and gingerly took a seat before it, mindful of injuries that Aragorn could not see. He would have to treat them as best he could, and sooner rather than later, if Legolas would only abandon his pride long enough to allow him access. But for the moment, he let the Elf be and stood alone with his concerns. His restless mind had not been calmed at all by his friend's explanations about what had happened. He could feel that the altercation had been more serious than Legolas had led him to believe. It had not just been a tussle in the mud to try to distract Boromir long enough for him to see how stupid and dangerous his desires were. After all, if the archer came to blows with another, it was because he felt there was no other option. The implications were not promising.

Aragorn looked to the line of trees from which Legolas had emerged, sighing to himself and letting his shoulders droop with the weight of his worry. _Whatever happened, Valar, let that be enough. Let nothing else happen within this Fellowship to endanger it. Boromir may have learned his lesson today. Soon he may find strength enough to ignore the Ring's seduction._

Somehow, though, Aragorn doubted this.


	3. Betrayal

**Author's Note: All characters, proper names of locations, and events are accredited to the creative genius of J.R.R. Tolkien, to whose memory I bow deeply and offer homage. Sincerest gratitude is extended to my reviewers; you have no idea what your encouragement has done to boost my desire to flesh out this tale. Feedback is of course welcome on this chapter as well, and I hope you enjoy the update! -Brandi**

* * *

The fight at Amon Hen was nothing compared to what probably awaited the Fellowship down the road, but it was still something to be marveled at for its ferocity and violence.

The moment Gimli encountered a rare break in the fray, he paused just long enough to yell out to Aragorn the question that had been nagging at him since the ranger left the camp. "Did you find Frodo?" He had been itching to ask it since he and Legolas had come to Aragorn's side to help him ward off the Orc attack.

Aragorn swallowed, not yet ready to admit his shortcomings. The truth was that _he_ had chased Frodo away after nearly succumbing to the call of the Ring. The Hobbit obviously still believed his friend and protector was above the superficial temptation of the tool of Sauron, but he learned otherwise very quickly and likely would not fully trust the ranger again for quite awhile.

He had desperately wanted to believe that Boromir's absence from camp, presumably to gather firewood, around the same time Frodo had disappeared was coincidental, but the Hobbit had later informed him that the man had tried to snatch the Ring from him. Never one to be mistaken for a fool, Frodo had slipped the Ring on and vanished, then hastily made his retreat back to Amon Hen, where his subsequent reunion and near-confrontation with Aragorn had taken place. The poor Hobbit obviously had no luck; as for the ranger, he was swiftly losing confidence in himself. But his lack of ability to resist the power of the Eye was not his main concern at the moment. The Uruk-Hai that had poured from the woods like black oil were ruthless, and the battle at Amon Hen had only intensified after the Uruks realized that Gimli and Legolas had joined in.

Aragorn shouted his response in the Dwarf's general direction as his blade ripped easily through the leather-clad shoulder of an Uruk, cleanly severing the arm. "No, but he is probably fine."

The Dwarf's dark brow furrowed in confusion. "Probably?" His reply was lost to the commotion of the battle, and before he could inquire further, the Uruks began advancing on him once more, foul weapons drawn and at the ready. He growled and prepared to begin defending himself once more. No complaints; just determination.

As for Legolas, he was completely absorbed in his task. He had thus far not had a moment of peace, and therefore had no opportunities to chat. It seemed the Uruks were particularly interested in doing battle with him, but that was just as well, as he was very much interested in doing _away_ with them. He darted and spun, his knives flashing as they dealt death from every imaginable angle (and some that seemed impossible.) There were a few precious occasions during which he was awarded an opportune moment and a distant target, and he'd swiftly switch to his bow and fire it with elven surety. He was completely focused on his task of the dispatching of these disgusting beasts, yet he could easily hear Gimli behind him, grunting with a mixture of annoyance and pleasure every time his axe met its mark. Aragorn was a few yards away, still fending off the filthy creatures with skilled slashes of his confidently wielded sword, Andúril.

Suddenly, a horn blasted from somewhere deep in the forest. It sounded as if it came from miles away, yet was so loud it ripped through the commotion of the battle. It was unmistakable. Each of the three comrades recognized it immediately, and it sent a wave of concern through each of them. It was the horn of Gondor. Boromir was summoning them.

Aragorn shot a desperate look in Legolas's direction. The Elf understood his friend's fear, but he was convinced that the three of them were safer as a group. Who knew what lurked out there in the darkness of the wood, waiting for them to break away and become vulnerable. He wanted to reassure himself, and Aragorn as well, that Boromir was a capable soldier, and could take care of himself and handle any situation he might find himself in. He was a trained defender of Gondor, after all, and the Elf knew firsthand how formidable a foe the man could be in a one-on-one spar, so he doubted highly that having many targets would lessen his skill. Boromir seemed to be resigned to the philosophy that the more targets, the merrier, anyway. He'd be fine. He might just be blowing the horn once to warn them that a host of Uruk-Hai were coming their way. Typically, multiple blasts meant assistance was needed; just one meant to be on alert for approaching foes. Yes, that had to be it. Then the horn sounded once more, shattering his moment of confidence.

Legolas tried to be reasonable. Boromir was more than a comrade to Aragorn, he was a kindred spirit. He was a fellow man. Legolas sighed, convincing himself in spite of his trepidation that he would do the same thing if he was in Aragorn's place, and it was an Elf that needed his aide. He would not be able to find it in himself to wait.

A slight inclination of his friend's golden head was all the encouragement Aragorn needed. He made a hasty escape from the skirmish, taking off into the forest at a desperate sprint, with about a dozen of Saruman's carefully bred Orcs on his heels.

Legolas's stomach instantly tangled into a mess of anxious knots. His mind was screaming. _Stop him! Do not let him go! Stop him! STOP him!_ But he could not heed its warning. He was too busy defending himself against the five Uruks that had advanced on him to watch his friend fleeing out of his range of vision.

* * *

As for the fleeing friend in question, he did not feel the least bit compelled to stop. His mind was screaming, too, but it was the exact opposite of the Elf's mental insistences. _Go! Hurry! You must reach Boromir! Do not let anything slow your feet! Hurry! Faster! Fly! _And Aragorn listened. He ran as if he had the Black Riders on his heels. He knew every second counted against him when a man of such pride as Boromir possessed was calling frantically for help. He was imagining every horrible possibility in vivid detail. He was hoping that he would not come upon the fray only to find his comrade captured, badly injured, or, Valar forbid, already dead. He expected to be assailed immediately with images of carnage; he was certain that blood would be everywhere, and he could only hope it was staining the ground black, and not red, so he would know Boromir's was not chief among it.

As for the Uruks who had been chasing him in his flight of rescue effort, they had given up and evidently decided it would be far more entertaining to slay an Elf or a Dwarf, and had likely gone back to do battle with his friends, but Aragorn could not afford to be concerned with that now. Boromir needed him much more.

As his feet carried him closer, Aragorn braced himself for the chaos and commotion of battle, but when he finally neared the place he was sure the blasting had originated, it was very quiet. Unnervingly quiet. Aragorn approached the area cautiously, hoping that if Boromir _was _injured, the enemy had simply left him to rot. Perhaps that was why it was so eerily silent. Warily, he drew closer. As his eyes locked on the situation before him, his feet stopped short, and so did his heart.

Boromir was calmly standing with his arms folded across his chest, a leer on his lips that sent a cold trickle of fear up Aragorn's spine. Even more intimidating was the throng of Uruk-Hai that stood in a half-circle behind him, staring at the ranger with what could only be described as bloodlust. _Too late_, Aragorn realized with a detached feeling of dread as reality sank in and spread like a debilitating disease through him. He had walked into a trap. "Boromir?" he croaked uncertainly, and felt his heart twist at the burst of cruel laughter that came in answer.

Aragorn just stood there, too stunned to speak. His heart was begging him to flee, but his mind was reminding him that it would be futile. The Uruks would react within a half-second, and he would probably make it about five steps before they caught up to him. His conscience instantly began scolding him. _You fool! You should have listened to Legolas! There has not been one time that his instincts were wrong, and he has never misled you! How could you ignore his warning?_

"I knew your loyalty would be your undoing, Ranger," Boromir announced. "I thought you were too smart to walk straight into the enemy's clutches, but I stand corrected." He uncrossed his arms and lifted his right, letting Aragorn get a good look at what dangled from his index finger.

As his eyes beheld the cool glitter of the One Ring hanging from Bilbo's chain, Aragorn felt as if the walls of his throat had collapsed. Every hair on the back of his neck stood up and gooseflesh broke out all over his body. Boromir had obtained the Ring, and everything the Fellowship had worked so hard and sacrificed so much for would be lost. _The Elf warned you,_ a sinister voice hovering somewhere around the edge of his mind taunted darkly, and Aragorn _felt _rather than knew that it was Sauron. He gritted his teeth, but refused to chastise himself further, lest the Enemy hear it and take pleasure in his frustration. His thoughts turned instead to Frodo, and he hoped that Boromir had not hurt him, or worse, in his mission to take the Ring from him.

Only a moment passed before Aragorn shook himself, forcing his attention back to the predicament he was currently forced to endure. He snapped back just in time to hear Boromir's order: "Bind him." When the Uruks began to obediently advance, he assumed a fighting position and quickly drew his sword from its scabbard. As the comfortable weight of Andúril was lifted from his hip, the weight of fear increased on his heart. Regardless of his misgivings about the odds of success, he knew he could not go quietly. He would go down fighting. He refused to do nothing and simply succumb to the enemy, knowing the Ring had fallen into the wrong hands. He owed at least this to the Fellowship's cause. His was not the first sacrifice, but it might be the last. Perhaps his death would shake Boromir back to his senses. This was all he could hope for now.

Boromir was not impressed by Aragorn's show of bravado, or his apparent resilience and determination. He rolled his eyes and gave a subtle signal to the largest Uruk in the group, who answered to the name of Lurtz. The addressed Uruk nodded, evilly pleased by the implications as he drew his bow.

Aragorn felt the searing pain flower immediately from the point of contact as the arrow embedded itself into his shoulder, then a troubling heat spread through his veins. He knew immediately that he had been poisoned, and yet had no time to truly concern himself with the prospect. He felt no more as wooziness overtook his balance and he collapsed. The ranger was unconscious before he hit the ground. His sword landed a foot or so away, immediately swallowed up by the blades of tall grass. An ugly cheer of victory erupted from the Uruks, and the deceitful man holding the One Ring truly knew the meaning of satisfaction. He now had everything he needed. The tool that would save his people, and the main opposition to his cause securely in his grasp. No one would be able to stop him this time. Legolas would likely be too torn by Aragorn's disappearance to be of any use to anyone, and the Fellowship would break, surely, without its beloved leader. It would be unlikely that he would encounter any resistance, and even if so, he now was the single most powerful being on the face of Middle Earth. His desire had been realized. Things were perfect.

* * *

At Boromir's command, the Uruks unceremoniously shoveled Aragorn's body onto a litter they had hidden away in the forest for the wounded. Then they bound his hands and feet with thick leather thongs, for if he awoke prematurely, they would be in for trouble if he could resist their efforts to restrain him. This was their safest bet.

Boromir himself inspected the binding efforts, then nodded his approval and gave a vague gesture that the Uruks interpreted as an order to lift the litter. They obeyed, and soon, the greedy, foul-hearted company, carrying their unresponsive captive, was retreating into the dark of the forest, leaving little behind to prove their presence in the first place.

* * *

Legolas emitted a rather undignified grunt of satisfaction as he slew the last standing Uruk and watched absently as Gimli drove his axe into the chest of another that was still squirming on the ground in a vain effort to reach his weapon, which lay yards away from him. His eyes quickly surveyed the area to ensure that all was finally still. Once he felt certain that this particular fray was over, the need to find his missing friends overwhelmed him. The men would have returned by now if all was well. It had been at least a half-hour since Aragorn had broken free from the fight and disappeared into the woods, and with each additional minute that passed, Legolas verged more and more on panic.

To his surprise, Gimli read his mind. "Go."

Legolas was taken aback for a moment, and then found himself sorely tempted, but he frowned and shook his head. "What if more come? That could have just been the first wave."

"I can handle a few Uruk-Hai, Master Elf. My axe and I will manage just fine; besides, I need to round up the little ones." He was referring, of course, to the Hobbits, who had apparently vanished into thin air but would likely materialize now that things had quieted down. "Just go. You're no good to anyone this distracted."

A cutting remark rose in Legolas's throat, but he knew this was not the time. He had to get to Aragorn and Boromir. _It might already be too late_, his mind taunted, but he ignored it.

"Legolas, go." The Dwarf's voice was gently insistent. When his friend made no move to depart, he added, "If you don't go, I will, and you know you're faster than I. It will take me thrice as long with these stumps for legs."

The Elf tried to offer a convincingly amused smile, but his worry was written all over his face, and his friend was not fooled. "You are right, of course," he answered in a voice that he hoped came across as light and casual. It did not, but Gimli said nothing.

A long moment passed as both friends looked around to ensure that the woods surrounding them were still quiet. It seemed things were secure for the moment.

Legolas cleared his throat. "See to it that the Hobbits are safe," he instructed needlessly. "I will return with Aragorn and Boromir, and then we will all hopefully find refuge elsewhere."

Gimli tried not to wince at the uncertainty that laced his friend's tone during his last statement. "Hurry," was all he offered in response. Legolas nodded and then he was gone, practically shooting off into the forest like a golden arrow.

* * *

Legolas was sure he'd been running forever, or so it seemed to him, at least. _Valar, please let me reach them in time…if I find them safe and unharmed, I will never again bicker with the Dwarf. I will return to my father's kingdom and be a proper prince…anything. Just let them be in one piece when I come upon them. _As he plea bargained with the powers above him, his certainty that he had gained no ground whatsoever intensified. Surely, he thought, he had come no closer to his friends.

Still, the agile Elf was determined to continue. He crashed through the trees, blond hair whipping around him like a banner as his feet flew as if they had a purpose all their own. He ran as fast as his long legs would allow, instinct guiding his steps as his feet nimbly picked their way over jutting rocks and lifted roots. He wanted to check on Aragorn, who had gone to answer the frantic blasts of the horn long ago and had yet to return. But Legolas knew it was more than concern for his friend that drove his feet. Something was wrong. Terribly wrong.

He finally reached a clearing where the ground had obviously been trampled to a dire degree, surely by the heavy, careless feet of Uruk-Hai. This had to be the location Boromir had been summoning Aragorn toward.

As he looked around, keen eyes anxiously awaiting some sign of movement, some symbol of hope that his friends were safe, fear began to claim a choking grasp on his heart. There was no one. And it was so still.

Legolas was confused. He had been certain that he would come upon a scene of violence. Surely it would take awful circumstances to cause Boromir to lay aside his pride and call for help.

He began to wonder if perhaps the horrific fray had taken place elsewhere, but he could not convince himself. He felt it in his _bones_. This _was _the place.

Worry for Boromir and Aragorn began to overwhelm him. Legolas tried to call his friends' names, but his mouth was as dry as sand.

As his eyes made one last desperate sweep over the area, he spotted something that struck him to the very core. His bow fell from limp fingers and clattered to the ground at his feet as his eyes alighted upon an object in the long grass. Aragorn's own weapon, Andúril, glinted up at him. The Elf's soul quaked. Aragorn would _never _leave that sword behind. Legolas stared down at it, but simply could not bring himself to bend and retrieve it.

Suddenly, he heard footsteps coming upon him. Whoever it might be, they were approaching rapidly. His body tensed in anticipation of a potential assault, and he drew his bow faster than a mortal could imagine possible, whirling about on his heel and directing a deadly arrow at this newest presumed threat.

* * *

_**To be continued...**_

* * *


	4. Treachery

**Author's Note: All characters, proper names of locations, and events are accredited to the creative genius of J.R.R. Tolkien, to whose memory I bow deeply and offer homage. **

**PLEASE remember that this is an Alternate Universe story, and therefore many details and events will be very different from "The Fellowship of the Ring" as presented by Tolkien in his trilogy or Peter Jackson in his films. Understand that this was done while I was in full possession of my mental capacities, and please do not flame me.**

**Also, nowhere in this tale do I state that Boromir is/was evil. I am fully aware that he was tempted often during the Quest before his death and did not act on his impulses. In this work of fanfiction, however, Boromir takes the Ring. That is the biggest (but not the only, believe me) deviation I make from Tolkien's work in "So Much for Fellowship," and I ask that you allow me this author's liberty, seeing as the story is classified as Alternative Universe. I do not posit that Boromir is inherently immoral or sinister, only that he makes an unwise decision. Please bear this in mind, and enjoy! **

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* * *

Legolas looked upon the one who had approached him with surprise. This individual, he had _not_ expected.

Gimli stood about a foot away from the sharp tip of the arrow, his wide eyes staring down the length and meeting Legolas's with no small amount of shock. He lifted both hands in a wary gesture of neutrality, as if afraid that his friend had gone mad and might think he meant to attack instead of merely stand there and hope the weapon was lowered. "Easy, lad," he coaxed.

Legolas made his annoyance clear. His tone was tight as he snapped, "If you were trying to get yourself killed, Master Dwarf, sneaking up on me is a very effective way to go about it."

"I made plenty of noise!" Gimli protested, his irritation becoming clear as well.

The Elf rolled his eyes, but carefully loosened his taut grip on the bowstring and removed the arrow. "I suspect so, as you have proven yourself incapable of being stealthy on more than one occasion. I do ask, however, that you never come upon me like that again."

The Dwarf swallowed a scathing rebuttal, instead focusing on the biggest issue at hand. "Did you locate Aragorn and Boromir?"

"No," the Elf replied, sounding and looking utterly miserable. "They were not here when I arrived, and I have seen no sign of either one."

Gimli tried to be optimistic in spite of the sudden, irrational anxiety that came over him like a wave. "Boromir might be looking for the Hobbits."

Legolas was dubious. "And what of Aragorn?"

Gimli shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. They had no reason yet, after all, to worry. Why fly into an all-out frenzy for what could very well be nothing? "Fool lad's probably off gathering herbs."

"Herbs," Legolas repeated incredulously.

"He's a healer," the Dwarf reminded him.

The Elf, for his part, was not nearly as casual. He appeared ready to explode. _"Who_ is he going to heal, Gimli?! The injured Orcs?! Boromir?!" Helplessly, he gestured around them with both arms. "In case you failed to notice, _there's no one here!"_

"Legolas, calm down."

"Calm down?! Our friends are missing, and you're telling me to ca—" He stopped suddenly as a knot twisted in his stomach. "Where are the Hobbits?"

Gimli thought for a moment. "Frodo had wandered off for a bit of peace, as I recall, and the others were beginning preparations for an early supper."

"Frodo had wandered..." Legolas looked around, suddenly nervous. "Where did he—" He stopped suddenly as a patch of brush relatively nearby rustled loudly. Legolas's sharp eyes narrowed as he drew his knives and watched the branches quivering.

He looked to Gimli, who gripped his axe and nodded grimly. Perhaps it was a wounded Orc, left behind so it wouldn't slow down the group. Or perhaps it was a simple forest creature.

One way to find out.

* * *

Silently and slowly, they crept forward and watched as it shook again. Gimli motioned to Legolas, and they hurried up to and parted the thick, tall undergrowth, simultaneously exposing a Hobbit each; Merry and Pippin were huddled close together on the ground, half-buried in leaves and looking up at them in relief. 

"What were you two doing, hiding away like that?!" Gimli couldn't help but scold. "You're lucky we decided to look before we hacked you to pieces!"

"We're sorry," Pippin said quietly, "but we were afraid you'd do that very thing if we came out and surprised you."

"Where are Aragorn and Boromir?" Legolas could not hold the question back another second.

"They…they left." Merry frowned.

"After they tied up Aragorn," Pippin added.

"They?" Gimli was perplexed. "Who are 'they,' Master Took?"

"Boromir and the Uruk-Hai."

Legolas felt his stomach churn. _Uruk-Hai!­_ He bowed his head for a moment and fought off a sudden, rather unusual wave of nausea. _So Boromir secured the loyalty of Saruman's company. How fortunate for us._ He forced himself from his pessimistic thoughts and turned his full attention back to the current situation. "He was bound?" he asked, watching Pippin's face closely. The youngest Hobbit trembled beneath the Elf's hard stare. Legolas did not mean to be intimidating, of course, but he was obviously well-versed in the art of interrogation. "You saw the Uruk-Hai tie Aragorn's limbs?"

"Y-Yes, I-I did."

"Was Aragorn…" Legolas trailed off, and a pained expression crossed his fair features. "Was he…"

"Alive?" Merry supplied, his voice cracking just a bit. "I'm…not sure. He was shot."

"_Shot?!_" In about two long strides, Legolas was upon Merry. He practically lifted the Hobbit off the ground as he grabbed him by the collar. Merry winced as the Elf's stark blue eyes bore into his. "What happened? Who shot Aragorn? Where did he and Boromir go?" Legolas's tone was demanding, but Merry was still too stunned by the Elf's sudden, uncharacteristically rough movements to reply coherently. He stammered something unintelligible, and finally resorted to a wary shrug of his shoulders.

"Legolas!" Gimli barked. The Elf turned sharply, as if he had been startled out of deep thought. "Put the lad down. You're frightening him."

Sheepishly, Legolas offered Merry an apologetic look and released him gently. "My sincere apologies, Master Meriadoc."

The Hobbit cleared his throat as he brushed himself off. "No harm done," he answered casually, trying to sound like it hadn't rattled him a bit.

Legolas's patience was fading rapidly, but he struggled to keep himself composed this time. He hadn't meant to scare Merry, but it was clear that he had, and he felt awful. So he took a slow breath, and asked quietly, "Can you recount what happened?"

"It all happened so fast, and I was trying to hide, so I didn't see everything. I'm sorry, Legolas, Gimli, but I don't know much. Perhaps Pippin saw more." He looked to Pippin, who shook his head sadly. Merry sighed. "We were both too confused to keep up with it. I still don't understand what happened, actually. I may not be of much use to you."

"Do your best, lad," Gimli prodded. Legolas was relieved to hear the tightness in his friend's gruff voice; evidently, the Dwarf too was wound up with anticipation about what had happened to the men.

"We heard the horn, and came here to see what was going on. Boromir was just standing here, blowing on it as if his life depended on it, but the Orcs—"

Pippin cut in. "Uruks."

Trying to hide his annoyance, Merry ignored his cousin and continued, "Well, they were just standing around with him. It was like they were waiting. Pippin and I just stayed here and tried to be as quiet as possible, because we didn't know what Boromir was going to do or who he was trying to get the attention of in the first place. Then Strider showed up, and when he tried to fight them off, he was shot."

"Who shot him?" Legolas asked for the second time.

"An Orc shot him."

"A Uruk," Pippin corrected again.

Merry rolled his eyes. "It's the _same_ thing, Pip."

His cousin was insistent. "Uruks are bigger!"

"You heard Gandalf! They're the same!"

"They are completely diff—" Pippin trailed off into silence when Legolas held up a hand, looking a bit frustrated.

"Then what happened?" It was Gimli who spoke this time.

Merry thought for a moment. "They picked up Strider and put him on a…" The proper term was eluding him, and he closed his eyes and pursed his lips a bit as if that might help him think of it.

"Litter," Legolas supplied. He had dropped into a crouch and was rubbing his temples.

The Hobbit was relieved that one of the individuals present knew the correct word for the apparatus, but he felt a little ignorant for not knowing it himself. "Yes, a litter. Then they left."

"You forgot the most important part, Merry!" Pippin chimed in, his brows knitted together. "You forgot to tell them that Boromir had the Ring!"

The Elf and the Dwarf now sported identical expressions of horrified disbelief. Legolas, who had more or less seen this coming, was the first of the two to regain the ability to speak. "Which way did they go?"

"They went that way." Pippin pointed south.

Legolas turned in the direction Pippin had indicated, and there was murder in his eyes. He was beginning to entertain some pretty terrible fantasies about what he might do to Boromir if they ever caught up to him. "Directly that way?" he asked, and did not look pleased when Pippin nodded.

"South? They're headed toward Mordor?" Gimli was confused. "Why would Boromir take the Ring to Sauron?"

Legolas shook his head. "Mordor is farther east. They're headed toward Gondor."

Gimli muttered a Dwarvish curse beneath his breath, beginning to pace in small circles. He was quickly putting the puzzle pieces together, and the picture so far did not look promising.

Suddenly, Legolas sprang to his feet. "Frodo! Sam!" Gimli looked up, his expression quickly shifting from startled to anxious. "Where are they?" Merry and Pippin winced as they shrugged in perfect unison.

Everyone fell silent for a moment; then the Dwarf posited hopefully, "They might have gone back to camp, knowing we all would return there eventually."

"I'm going back." Legolas was already walking away. "We must find them."

"Wait! We don't know what's out there!" Pippin's protests were likely futile, but he felt the need to voice them anyway.

"They might need us," Gimli replied. It was clear he was as determined to go back as Legolas, so Pippin sighed and gave up, looking to Merry with worried blue eyes. Merry bit his lip. They did not want to see any more Uruks for the time being, but it seemed their friends Frodo and Sam might need them.

"Hurry!" Legolas called over his shoulder, already beginning to run now through the trees. Gimli began to head that way too, not far behind the Elf. Merry and Pippin hesitated a moment, but then realized if they didn't follow, they'd be alone. Frightened even more by that prospect, they hurried after the two warriors.

* * *

_**To be continued...**_


	5. Transition

**Author's Note: All characters, proper names of locations, and events are accredited to the creative genius of J.R.R. Tolkien, to whose memory I bow deeply and offer homage. **

**PLEASE remember that this is an Alternate Universe story, and therefore many details and events will be very different from "The Fellowship of the Ring" as presented by Tolkien in his trilogy or Peter Jackson in his films. Understand that this was done while I was in full possession of my mental capacities, and please do not flame me.**

* * *

It seemed to take ages to reach the camp, likely because so much hinged on what they might discover there.

Legolas, predictably, was the first to come upon the little camp by the river's edge. His tense expression relaxed when he saw both Hobbits, almost exactly where they had left them, actually, and his relief intensified when he noted that they appeared to be safe and well.

Sam was sitting on the ground, his head lowered and his eyes cast downward. He was completely silent, and seemed deep in thought. Frodo was about fifteen feet away, pacing, and the only sound was the crunching of leaves beneath his feet.

About thirty seconds later, Gimli practically stumbled up, panting heavily. He was exhausted from trying to keep up with his taller friend; no easy task, but his competitive spirit had forced him to do his best. He had mostly succeeded, but now his heart was paying the price. It was battering about like a caged bird in his ribcage.

When he saw the two Hobbits, both in one piece and unharmed, he heaved a sigh of relief with what felt like the last bit of his precious breath. "They're all right," he grunted. His rusty baritone reached Sam's ears, and finally snapped him out of his daze. He rose quickly to his feet, his expression conveying his pleasure to see help had arrived at last. He did not know how to calm his master, and was hoping either the Elf or Dwarf would offer some advice.

"Thank the Valar," Legolas murmured, placing a hand over his heart for a moment and shaking his head in relief. He, of course, was totally unruffled by their flight through the forest, and looked as put-together as he might after a two-hour grooming session. Gimli tried not to show his disgust. It had to be Elf-magic. But Legolas would just toss his hair in mock arrogance and accuse the Dwarf of being envious, anyway, and Gimli didn't have the energy at the moment to argue.

At least two minutes passed before Merry and Pippin jogged up, a bit out of breath themselves. If Gimli had difficulty keeping up, the Hobbits had practically failed to do so. They were not accustomed to sprinting distances more than a few yards at a time; indeed, they were not accustomed to sprinting at all. Their weariness faded fast when they saw Frodo and Sam. Delighted to see their friends again, they rushed up without inhibition to hug the Ringbearer and his gardener.

But Merry pulled back from his embrace after a moment, studying his friend with concern. Pippin released Frodo as well, confused. They both knew Frodo well; he was a Hobbit greatly inclined to indulge himself in moments of friendly affection. It was completely unlike him to simply stand there and allow himself to be hugged without returning the sweet gesture. A tense moment followed in which both puzzled over the lack of enthusiastic response. Surely Frodo was relieved to see his friends alive and unharmed, too, so why the listlessness?

Merry finally could stand the worried suspense no longer. He had to know what had caused this change in his friend. "Frodo? Are you all right?"

After the inquiry had hung in the air for a moment, Frodo finally reacted. He lifted his head, his gaze roving over the others. Everyone winced in turn at the lifeless indifference evident in the Hobbit's wide blue eyes. Frodo looked positively drained. It appeared that the ugly struggle that they all knew had taken place between Frodo and Boromir over the Ring had taken a toll on him, and certainly his failure to keep it in his possession had whittled his spirit down further.

Legolas walked up, careful not to startle the four huddled together. Sam, Merry, and Pippin all parted to give the Elf room as he knelt before Frodo so he was at the smaller one's eye level. "Are you unhurt?" he asked gently. Tearfully, the Hobbit met his concerned gaze and nodded.

Frodo sucked in a shaky breath, and then the words began to tumble out. "He took it—Boromir, I mean. Boromir took it. He took the Ring. I'm sorry. I tried…I tried to fight him…but he's so strong…I'm sorry. You all must be so disappointed in me." A short sob escaped him. "I promised Gandalf…"

The Elf shook his head. "You have nothing to apologize for, Frodo. You did all you could. We do not feel disappointed in you. We are just relieved that you are all right."

The others nodded furiously, murmuring their agreement.

"We will find Boromir," Gimli assured him.

Sam was nodding furiously. "I told you, Mister Frodo. Mister Boromir will not get away with this. We will get it back and get the cursed thing to Mordor. It's only a small setback."

Frodo was too distracted to respond to his friend's reassurances. He was looking around and seemed quite confused. "Where is Aragorn?" It was obviously the first time he had taken notice of the ranger's absence, but this could be pardoned. The poor Hobbit had an awful lot on his mind.

"Boromir took Strider with him," Merry informed Frodo reluctantly. "Legolas thinks they're heading to Gondor."

"Took? As in he took Aragorn as a captive?"

"More or less," Pippin sighed.

"I cannot believe he first took the Ring," Sam announced angrily, "and then took Strider! He sure has a lot of nerve, that Boromir!"

"Come to think of it, 'took' is too mild a term," Frodo decided. "He _stole_ it from me. He would gladly have torn me limb for limb to get to it. I am convinced that if I had resisted any harder, he might have killed me. I finally just let him snatch it, for fear of what the consequences of struggling might be."

"I was afraid of this," Legolas murmured, apparently to himself, although the others overheard.

"Does this have anything to do with what happened yesterday?" Frodo implored, sounding as if he already knew the answer but was asking for the others who obviously did not.

Sam was catching on. "Begging your pardon, Mister Legolas, but you looked right awful when you came back to camp yesterday. We were worried. What happened?"

Legolas appeared reluctant to divulge anything, so Gimli pushed a little. "Master Elf," he rumbled, "I believe it's time for an explanation."

The Elf knew the others deserved to know what had really happened, and felt guilty for his secrecy, but still he hesitated; not for himself, but for the sake of the others. He knew that this could stir up a lot of tension and fear amongst the remaining members of the Fellowship. He looked from one puzzled face to the next, and then realized that avoiding the issue could no longer help the situation. The harm had already been done. The truth did not have the power to save or destroy anymore. So he came clean at last. "Yes, Master Baggins," he replied softly. "I could tell Boromir was having particular difficulty eluding the call of the Ring recently, and I confronted him about it, for I did not know what he might be capable of and foolishly hoped to help him."

Sam spoke up when the Elf fell silent with private thoughts of shame. "Wanting to help doesn't make you foolish, Mister Legolas. It makes you a good friend."

The Elf offered a half-smile at Sam for his sweetness, but his voice was as desolate as before when he addressed the group again. "We fought each other, and I believe the only thing that kept Boromir from killing me was that the Ring loosened its hold on him during his best opportunity to finish the task. I decided it was in the best interest of the group to keep this matter private, and I hope that no one here resents that decision, but it was made with the best of intentions."

"No one here resents _you _for anything," Frodo declared. "Boromir, on the other hand…" He shook his head.

Legolas sighed. "Well, in any case, I guessed Boromir's intentions. I knew what he was after, and after I received my proof that he was not only lusting after, but indeed plotting to take, the Ring, I tried to warn Aragorn."

"Did he believe you?" Pippin obviously could not contain the question.

"Does it matter now?" Merry returned, frowning at his cousin.

_Too late! _A voice taunted from somewhere deep in the recesses of Legolas's mind. _Always too late! _"Perhaps if I had made an announcement to the Fellowship and made everyone aware of the threat," he mused out loud, his usually light voice heavy with regret, "this might have been prevented. It might never have come to this."

"_That _does not matter now," Frodo told him quietly. "What matters now is that we help Aragorn."

"Without Strider to lead us, what will we do?" Merry asked, worry creasing his forehead.

Gimli leaned on his axe. "Well…we have no Ring…we are down to five members…and we have no leader."

_One can apparently always count on a Dwarf to make light of a heavy predicament,_ Legolas thought irritably, but said nothing.

Pippin, along with the others, did not like the reality presented to him; however, he was the most vocal about his discouragement. "Terrific," he muttered darkly. "Might as well turn back now."

"Hush, Pippin!" Frodo admonished. "We cannot turn back. Do you not see how dire our situation is now? The Ring is in Boromir's hands! What good could come of that? We have to retrieve it!"

Merry spoke up again. "With all due respect, what do you propose we do, Frodo? Wander around the countryside leaderless?"

"Elect a new leader?" Sam offered, and then added quickly, "But not me."

Silence fell over the group as all eyes turned hopefully to the Elf, who was standing with stooped shoulders as he pinched the bridge of his nose. He felt their stares upon him, and glanced up, raising an elegant brow quizzically. After a long moment, his confused expression gave way to one of alarm. He shook his head fervently. "I am no leader," he protested.

"But you are a prince!" Pippin exclaimed, then hesitated. "Aren't you?" Legolas only frowned in response, but the Hobbit took this as a confirmation and plowed on, his eyes suddenly lit with hope. "Then you are best suited to lead us!"

Gimli explained, "He's a prince, Master Took, not a king. He's not an experienced leader." The response hung heavy in the air, and all four Hobbits winced. They were afraid Legolas would take offense and an argument would break out. The Elf and Dwarf were always fighting about something, and at times it was even amusing…but now it would just add to the already sour mood that pervaded the atmosphere.

The Elf seemed to think about this for a moment, and the feeling of dread intensified. But when it came, Legolas's response was quiet, and he did not seem even slightly annoyed. "Precisely." The four Halflings stared at Legolas in shock. For his part, the Dwarf merely offered a sad nod; evidently, he had read the other's mind.

Frodo sighed, rubbing his temples. "No one here is an experienced leader, but you are the oldest of this group. You know these lands better than any of us, save Strider, and he's gone, so you're our only hope, Legolas."

"Frodo's right," Sam chimed in hesitantly. "You sort of saw this whole mess coming, Mister Legolas. You might be best able to predict Boromir."

"You also have the keenest eyes and ears," added Gimli.

Legolas looked to Merry and Pippin, who were nodding in enthusiastic agreement. The latter added brightly, "And you're the tallest!" This ridiculous logic surprised a laugh out of everyone.

"I want to help, but I do not know how to lead," Legolas admitted softly. The brief moment of amusement died. "Gimli was right. I am a prince. I'm accustomed to taking orders, not giving them."

"Then do not be a prince, and do not try to be a king. Be our friend, and help us find yours." Frodo's voice was gentle. "Aragorn would be relieved to know we were in your hands. He trusted your tracking skills most of all after his own, and so do we."

After a long moment in which Legolas's reluctance and determination battled for dominance, the Elf sighed. Determination had prevailed. "I will lead, if you will follow," he said, placing a hand over his heart, "and I truly am honored that there is a consensus that I am worthy of such a mammoth responsibility. I will do my best to prove your faith in me to be well-grounded, and will lead any who choose to follow, but no one should feel compelled to go any further. Lord Elrond's assurance that any member of the Fellowship may leave at any time they wish stands."

"That is our friend out there too," Frodo replied. "I believe I speak for everyone when I say that we will not abandon him or our purpose now. We each agreed to make the journey to Mordor and destroy the Ring, and this Quest will be fulfilled. If we must go to Gondor first, so be it." The others' heads were bobbing with absolute conviction. Apparently, it was unanimous.

Legolas found himself heartened by their stalwartness. "Very well," he said, much to the relief of everyone present and counting on this answer. "For now, we must press on. Aragorn would not want us to tarry." His announcement was met with four identical expressions of disbelief. The Hobbits were exhausted and were hoping for a short respite before they began their arduous search.

Gimli declared, "The Elf is right. We have to get back that Ring before Boromir destroys everything."

Unenthusiastically, the Hobbits resigned themselves to the lost moment of rest.

"We shall press on," Frodo announced at last, cementing the agreement.

* * *

And press on they did. For a day and a half, they marched without rest, forced to eat dried meat and fruit as they walked, much to the chagrin of the Hobbits, who so enjoyed sitting down and having a decent, cooked meal. 

By late afternoon on the second day, Gimli was huffing a bit harder than usual, but the Hobbits especially looked worse for the wear. Legolas was too determined to find his friend to notice his companions' exhaustion at keeping such a strenuous pace.

Sam was all but gasping for breath. "How does he keep a pace like this?" he grunted to Merry, who shrugged tiredly.

"I'm hungry," muttered Pippin. "I had to break off a branch of berries from that bush we passed two hours ago, or I would not have eaten at all today."

"Strider probably _hasn't _eaten at all, Pip." Merry turned to frown at his friend. "You would do well not to complain. No one else here is doing so, and I doubt very much Strider has either."

Pippin had the decency to blush at his cousin's remark. "Sorry," he murmured.

"I wonder why Legolas is so reluctant to lead us," Merry mused, seeming eager to change the subject from Aragorn after seeing the pained expression that crossed Frodo's face at the thought of their protector being unable to eat. He regretted now speaking without thinking, but the best thing to do, he figured, was to distract his friend.

Pippin frowned. "It is rather odd," he concurred. "Why would a prince choose to follow orders rather than give them?"

"I suspect it's because Legolas does not want to be seen as arrogant," Frodo answered with a shrug. "He doesn't think of himself as our superior, and probably hopes that we don't, either. He is just another member of this Fellowship, determined to do whatever it takes to see evil destroyed. Why would he throw his title around? It means nothing here. We are all equals, joined by a common cause."

"Whatever the reason, I think it's nice," Sam declared from his position at the back of the group. "Refreshing."

"You would," Pippin returned, looking back just long enough to shoot Sam a matter-of-fact smirk.

"And just what does _that_ mean?" Sam snapped.

"You would find a pebble fascinating if you saw it drop out of an Elf's pocket."

The only thing that stopped Sam from smacking the back of his friend's head was his relief at hearing Frodo laugh at the cheeky remark.

* * *

As the afternoon wore into evening, Frodo found himself caught up in a whirlwind of self-blame and pessimism. 

_This is all my fault. I hope Aragorn can forgive me for putting him through this because of my own stupid weakness. I was a fool to think I could handle such a difficult task. I might as well have let Boromir have the Ring at the Council, for all the good taking it myself has done._

"Mister Frodo, you need to rest." Sam's concerned voice broke into his mind, scattering his thoughts. "You look right ready to drop, sir. We haven't had a break in far too long. I do not think it is very fair of Mister Legolas to force us to keep on like this."

"Legolas wants to find Aragorn. Imagine if it was I, Sam, that was taken prisoner. Would you want to stop unnecessarily in your pursuit?"

"If I knew that we were actually slowing down because we were so tired, yes. It won't do Strider a bit of good if we all drop like boulders."

Frodo opened his mouth to reply, but suddenly, as if their prayers had been answered, the unlikely pair heading the group halted. The Elf was gazing off at the horizon, and Gimli set down his axe, which Frodo took as a sign that they were about to make camp. He almost collapsed in relief, but then he heard Legolas tell Gimli, "I think we should continue on until dark." The Ringbearer barely smothered a most undignified groan of protest.

The Dwarf glanced behind him at the others. "I think it is time to stop. The Hobbits could use a rest."

"They're hardier creatures than you'd expect, Gimli. I think they will manage until nightfall." Legolas felt a tug at his cloak, and turned to face Sam, who had trotted to the front of the group and now was looking up at him determinedly.

"Mister Legolas, sir?" Sam's voice was hesitant, and he faltered as the Elf met his gaze. After hours and hours of brisk walking, Legolas did not seem at all fatigued, he realized with surprise. He was not panting ─ indeed, he hardly seemed to breathe at all. He hadn't even broken a sweat! _How does he do it?_ the Hobbit wondered idly, a bit awestruck by the Elf's apparently endless stamina, then decided it did not matter. _Frodo needs to stop, regardless. No doubt about it._

"Yes, Samwise?"

Sam was relieved to hear no annoyance in the musical tone, but still the Hobbit winced again at what he did detect. For someone who appeared so fresh and focused, Legolas sure did sound dejected. Only concern for his master forced Sam to answer, and he felt sorry to have to be the harbinger of bad news to an Elf who was desperate to find his friend. "Frodo does need to stop, sir," he said, looking apologetically at the Elf. "Actually, we all do. I'm sorry, sir." He was relieved when Legolas looked to Frodo and his expression broke in concern.

"Are you all right, Frodo?" he asked, worry for the Ringbearer's well-being coloring his tone. "Do you need a break?"

Frodo licked his lips and nodded. "If we can."

"Of course," the Elf replied gently. "You only need ask. I'm sorry that I'm letting my concern for Aragorn overshadow my concern for-" and here he trailed off; his answer had gone unheeded, as the Hobbits were already unloading their packs and getting ready to make camp. He shrugged at Gimli, who chuckled.

In no time, the Hobbits had divided the tasks up amongst themselves. For creatures that seemed to enjoy bickering so much, Legolas decided, they evidently cooperated surprisingly well when the need for it arose. "They are a curious folk," he murmured to himself, a rare smile curving his lips as he watched them. Merry gathered dry sticks and small logs for firewood, Sam prepared a meager dinner of more of the dried meat and fruits they had in their packs, Pippin went off in search of water, and Frodo laid out the bedrolls. His eyes remained on the latter for a few moments. _Boromir did not seem to think much of him, but I am quite convinced that the nephew of the renowned Bilbo Baggins is also destined for greatness._

* * *

_**To be continued…**_

* * *


	6. Anamnesis

**Author's Note****All characters, proper names of locations, and events are accredited to the creative genius of J.R.R. Tolkien, to whose memory I bow deeply and offer homage. **

**PLEASE remember that this is an Alternate Universe story, and therefore many details and events will be very different from "The Fellowship of the Ring" as presented by Tolkien in his trilogy or Peter Jackson in his films. Understand that this was done while I was in full possession of my mental capacities, and please do not flame me.**

* * *

Aragorn came to around early afternoon on the fourth day. 

His body was reluctant to awaken fully, as it had gotten quite comfortable in the protective cocoon of unconsciousness.

The first thing he was aware of was a dull throbbing between his eyes. The healer in him recognized this as an after-effect of a fairly serious concussion.

He felt a jostling rocking motion, and winced as his body was veritably tossed from side to side. For a moment, he was confused. Was he being carried, and if so, by whom? Where was he? Why was he not on his feet? Other than his head, he was aware of no other pains. Could he be injured and not realize it?

He cracked open one eye, warily, and the sunlight hit him like a club. Groaning against a wave of nausea, he squeezed it shut again and willed his stomach to stop rolling. The jarring motions of whatever he was being carried on did not help soothe him.

Finally, he could stand the thick, debilitating cloud of ignorance no longer. He had to know what was going on. His eyes opened slowly, and when the urge to vomit did not overwhelm him this time, he steeled himself and looked around. What he saw sent a cold trickle of fear up his spine.

He was being carried by several of Saruman's Uruk-Hai. Every muscle in his body tensed, and he wondered if he would be able to fight. He certainly had never wanted to more than right now. He began to struggle on the litter, hoping to roll off by some Valar-granted chance and have enough time to escape. When he tested his arms for strength, however, he found that they were tightly bound at the wrists. He tried to adjust his legs, hoping against hope that they were free so he could at least make a run for it, but his ankles were tied, too. Horrified, he realized now that there was nothing he could do.

His thoughts swam in frenzied bewilderment. How had this come to be? Had the enemy knocked him unconscious and then dragged him away at Amon Hen? Where were his friends? His thoughts turned to the others. He hoped that Legolas and Gimli had escaped, and that the Hobbits were under their capable protection. He hoped that Boromir was safe as well, and had returned to the group to lend his sword to their aide, should it prove necessary.

_Wait. Boromir!_

Suddenly, everything came back to him with sickening clarity. His temporary amnesia wore off and the truth assailed him. He remembered now. Boromir. He recalled now that the man had the Ring, and had him as a captive. He turned as best he could to one side and emptied the contents of his stomach over the edge of the litter. He was annoyed to hear the Orcs jeering at his plight. They seemed highly amused that he could not seem to control his bodily functions. Aragorn tried his best to ignore their hilarity at his expense.

After the accompanying dry heaves had subsided, he slumped onto his back and lay there miserably, staring up at the sky as the clouds bounced from side to side in rhythm with the jolting of the litter the resulted from the Uruks' uneven, heavy marching. He did not know where Boromir was, but frankly did not care. It did not matter. The man had the Ring. Aragorn stood not a chance at escape or rebellion. The son of the Steward was now the single most powerful entity in all of Middle Earth, and although the implications were terrible, there wasn't anything to be done about it now but ride out the storm.

* * *

As for Boromir himself, he was walking toward the front of the group, but not quite at the head. He lagged behind not only to allow the Orcs that led to clear a path for him, but because he needed no confirmation of his superiority. All who traveled with him were under his command, and did not need to be reminded of this fact, which pleased him immensely. He did not feel obligated to assert his authority. It was the ultimate validation. 

He kept himself busy to avoid boredom; mostly by flattering himself. He marveled often at the ingeniousness of his plan, how smoothly it had progressed, and how beautifully it had all fallen into place. It had almost been too easy. He had known Aragorn would come to his aide. There had been no doubt in his mind. Aragorn was loyal, and his fierce loyalty had proven to be his undoing. It was ironic. Boromir had warned Aragorn that he was too attached to other races, yet a member of _his own_ race had achieved the ultimate betrayal at his expense.

Earlier, Lurtz had alerted Boromir to Aragorn's consciousness, and the hostage's useless thrashing on the makeshift litter had confirmed it. Boromir was relieved that the bonds had held. A struggling captive, especially one of Aragorn's strength, would be very difficult to handle, and if he escaped, they might be set back several days in their journey to try and recover him. Boromir had been contentedly ignoring the other man, but this would not last, as Aragorn had about a million questions that he was ready to plead for answers to.

Finally, he could stand it no longer. The most important question fled his lips before he could even think to stop himself. "What made you do this?" It was not accusatory; it might have even bordered on curious.

Boromir's fingers reached to lift the chain around his neck. The Ring dangled from his fingers. No words were necessary. Aragorn sighed.

He tried another question. "Why me?"

There still was no reply.

"Revenge?"

Silence.

"Leverage?"

Silence.

"Navigation?"

Still nothing. Aragorn gave up, lapsing back into troubled thoughts. Whatever Boromir's reasoning, he seemed unwilling to share it, and this was worrisome, but it would do him no good to agonize over the things he could not change. He had, as Boromir himself had so eloquently put it, walked straight into the enemy's clutches, and now there was no turning back.

* * *

Hours dragged by, and no words were exchanged. Aragorn had never felt so alone, and he worried for his friends almost constantly. He had never cared much for his own security, but his friends' well-being was first on his mind and foremost in his heart. He could not bear to think that they might have been injured, and refused to think the worst. Although his predicament was at best compromising and at worst terrible, the ranger thought only of his friends. He did not pity himself so much as he pitied his friends for their helpless ignorance and inevitable fear. 

Then suddenly, after six hours without event had passed, Boromir unexpectedly spoke, startling his captive a bit. "We are going to Gondor, where you will announce your lineage to the denizens, and then renounce your place as rightful heir to the throne. You will say only what I command, and you will in no way admit that this was my insistence. You will act as if this was your purpose all along, and that your life as a ranger is more important to you than claiming your hereditary crown. If you choose to disobey, I will have you beheaded, and may I remind you that the guards of the White City have fought long under and respected my command. They would not hesitate to do as I ask. If they feel any allegiance to you after your speech and refuse to accept that you will not be their king, I will simply kill you myself."

Aragorn sighed. This was not the reunion with his people that he had hoped for. Rather than daring to challenge aloud Boromir's words, he asked, "Did Legolas hurt you?" The question was filled with genuine, if reluctant, concern. In spite of everything, the healer in him could not be ignored. He did not, however, ask this as a friend. The time for _that_ was long over.

Boromir stiffened and shot the ranger a glare, which was lost on Aragorn, for he was determinedly avoiding looking at his captor. He feared if he met the other man's stare, he might turn to stone as a troll would at the first light of dawn. "No worse than I hurt him," he snapped irritably. Clearly, in spite of his good intentions, Aragorn's inquiry had been misconstrued. His pride had been riled now, and he was determined to show Aragorn that he had held his own against the Elf.

"I didn't mean…" Aragorn shook his head, frustrated. "I ask as a healer. I can tend to any wounds you might have procured."

"That won't be necessary." Boromir's voice was still tight.

"I only wish to help."

"May I remind you, ranger," Boromir tersely replied, spitting out Aragorn's chosen lifestyle as if it had a sour taste to it, "that I have long been able to take care of myself. I know how to manage my own injuries."

Aragorn tried not to roll his eyes. "Very well," he conceded. When Boromir said nothing in response, he pressed on, switching the subject to one that mattered far more than the other man's well-deserved wounds. "Where are the others?"

"How should I know?" Boromir was clearly indifferent. Aragorn had anticipated such an apathetic reaction, but it still stung a little.

"Did the Uruks hurt them?"

"I did not see them, and frankly, Aragorn, it matters not to me."

"They were your friends!" Aragorn's protests fell on deaf ears, and his heart twisted into a fist. _You are despicable, _he thought angrily, but dared not vocalize it; instead, he focused his attention straight ahead and watched as the Uruks marching before them hacked a path through the thick undergrowth. Their swords flashed coldly without pause as they carelessly cut down young saplings and flourishing bushes.

Aragorn groaned inwardly. This was going to be a very long journey indeed...

* * *

**To be continued...**

* * *


	7. Revelations

**Author's Note:**_ All characters, proper names of locations, and events are accredited to the creative genius of J.R.R. Tolkien, to whose memory I bow deeply and offer homage. _

_PLEASE remember that this is an Alternate Universe story, and therefore many details and events will be very different from "The Fellowship of the Ring" as presented by Tolkien in his trilogy or Peter Jackson in his films. Understand that this was done while I was in full possession of my mental capacities, and please do not flame me._

* * *

Legolas and Gimli elected to stop late into the evening, but not before a heated debate had ensued, ending only after Gimli had pointedly reminded Legolas that the mortals, such as the Dwarf himself, were now having difficulty seeing more than a yard ahead of their own two feet. 

They chose a spot for their camp along the river, and assigned watches. It was a much easier process than usual, as Sam readily volunteered for first watch. He chose not to divulge his reasons, but the truth was that he had suffered from mild indigestion the night before, and had naturally slept poorly due to it, so he wished to sleep the longest without interruption. This way, he could get his watch over with and, barring an emergency, there would be no cause to wake him.

* * *

Merry and Pippin were just beginning to announce their hunger and anticipation of supper when, completely without warning, Legolas disappeared into the forest. He was gone for the better part of an hour, much to the confusion of all, until he returned with two skinny rabbits in hand and the expression of a satisfied hunter on his face. 

The Dwarf set about building a fire, then Sam did the best he could to prepare the meat, although there was precious little of it on the tiny bones. Still, it was better than nothing, and everyone was secretly relieved by the absence of dried fruit and berries at this meal.

After dinner had been consumed, Gimli busied himself tending to the fire, Legolas hastened off in search of wood, and the Hobbits gathered at the water's edge, mostly to wash the dishes and fill the water skins, but also to soak their tired, aching feet.

Once these tasks had been completed to the satisfaction of all, the familiar circle around the fire emerged as each unrolled their beds, keeping close to the warmth. Finally, the group, save Sam, settled permanently in for the night, and each not on watch, save Frodo, quickly fell asleep.

* * *

An hour passed before Frodo finally had had enough of lying under his blankets, trying to keep his body still as his mind refused to stop moving. He eased himself from the warmth of his coverings and rose to his feet, moving in the darkness to join Sam, who was a few feet away, staring into the night, determined to be a good guardian for the sleeping Fellowship. 

"May I watch with you?" The question was mostly for formality, as Frodo was already sitting down beside his friend.

"Naturally you may, Mister Frodo, but you really should sleep instead," Sam advised gently. "Take advantage of this blessed respite while it lasts! I would not be surprised at all if Mister Legolas was up with the sun and pushing onward. You will need your rest tomorrow if we are to pursue Aragorn at such a breakneck speed again."

"I cannot find rest," Frodo told his loyal friend quietly.

Sam nodded, remaining silent; he knew the reasons and had no questions. "You should sleep," he repeated. "You have fourth watch, which gives you plenty of time."

"That is just the thing I do not seem to have enough of, Sam: time. We all lack time. Time is against us. Time is running out. Aragorn and Boromir are getting farther and farther away with each moment that passes. I suspect that is why I cannot sleep; I want to keep moving. I want to find them."

"Mister Frodo, losing sleep is not going to make us find them any sooner. We all have to rest, and so do they. Boromir is not invincible. Even with the Ring in his hand, he must have to stop every so often. Think of it this way: you need sleep just as much as Strider. You both have been through terrible times, Mister Frodo, and you both deserve some recuperation."

Sam's unexpectedly wise words hung in the air for a moment, but then Frodo posited that Boromir was a soldier and could probably march for days at a time, and a debate of sorts that would last long into Sam's watch began.

* * *

Several hours later and on the other side of the campsite, Gimli puffed on his pipe and tried to conceal his boredom during his watch. He had relieved Sam less than a half-hour ago, and was already feeling rather tired of sitting around in silence waiting for something that might or might not ever happen. 

Legolas was also awake, and finally decided to offer the Dwarf some company even though he had the last watch and was exhausted from the stress of this turn of events. He picked his way carefully through the tangle of sleeping Hobbits and whistled quietly so as not to startle the armed Dwarf into destructive action. Gimli jumped a bit, but did not raise his axe, much to Legolas's relief.

However, rather than sitting down next to the Dwarf, he simply stood a foot or so away and was quiet for a moment, staring off into the distance. Gimli was about to suggest that the Elf take over his watch, as that seemed to be Legolas's preference at the moment anyway, but opted against it. He was grateful for the company, at the very least.

Finally, the Elf's trance broke, and a flurry of barely controlled motion commenced. Now Legolas could not seem to be still. He would pace back and forth, then stop and wring his hands, stare off into the night at nothing in particular, think hard for a few minutes, then shake himself back to reality and begin the cycle anew. Gimli had plenty to watch now that wasn't completely boring, but it proved quickly to be unsettling. It was unnerving to see such a stoic and patient Elf act so skittish.

"You can pace all night if you so insist, Legolas," Gimli declared, finally breaking the silence, "but you cannot help him by wearing a rut two feet deep into the ground. You really should sleep."

"I cannot _sleep _knowing that somewhere out there in that smothering darkness, my friend is out there wide awake and suffering at the hands of a madman!" Legolas snapped. The two were silent for a moment, then the Elf's expression softened in apology and he tiredly sank into a cross-legged position on the ground. "I'm sorry, Gimli. I did not mean to be so abrupt."

"I know, lad," the Dwarf responded, patting a grey-clad knee.

"We have to find him, Gimli." There was an edge of desperation in the Elf's voice. "Boromir plans to use the Ring to immortalize himself. He wants to see Minas Tirith restored. Boromir resents Aragorn for his lineage and his right to inherit the rule of Gondor. It's fairly obviously that he wants Denethor to become king. What is the best way to go about that?"

"Take the Ring," Gimli supplied, "take Aragorn, and give Father Dearest the crown."

"Precisely," the Elf mused, staring at the ground and tugging absently at the strap of his quiver. He was quiet for a moment, lost in thought, but suddenly his head snapped up. His eyes were wide as they met his friend's. "Oh, no, wait. I have had this all wrong! I have obscenely misjudged his intentions!"

"What are you rambling about now, fool Elf?" Gimli's tone was light, but it was clearly not a rhetorical question.

"_Boromir_ wants to be King of Gondor!"

"Then why did he take Aragorn? It would have been easier to run alone without another man to worry about."

The blue eyes darkened. "In his twisted mind, he would rather see Aragorn dead than on that throne. This is why he captured Aragorn! It was never about leaving us leaderless. It was about greed! Moreover, it was about revenge! And I was the fool who alerted him to Aragorn's true heritage at the Council! He might never have known and never imagined taking over the rule of Gondor as a possibility! Now he knows that if he declares Aragorn a traitor, deserter, and liar in front of everyone in the city, and convinces his aged father to step down, the throne will be his! And then perhaps he will have no further use for Aragorn and will simply kill him for spite! Oh, Gimli, what have I allowed to happen?"

"Master Elf, you need to calm yourself and take a breath," the Dwarf declared quietly. "And you also have not so much as blinked through all this, and frankly, you're scaring me."

Legolas glared at him. "This is not funny, Master Dwarf," he retorted. "Boromir stole the Ring, which makes him the most powerful inhabitant of Middle Earth, so far as I'm concerned, and he will join league with Saruman and eventually Sauron if we do not stop him…and we cannot possibly hope to stop him without miraculous help. He also took Aragorn hostage, and if the latter is still alive, we do not know how to find him. Without him, we're basically lost unless I manage to randomly pick the proper path. There is nothing to see or hear for leagues, and so my elven sensibilities are almost useless, and I have very limited tracking abilities in unfamiliar terrain. We're running low on supplies and our morale is lower than it was in Moria. You and I are the only two capable warriors in the group now, and if we decide to go to Gondor in the tentative hope that Boromir will immediately do the same, we will encounter things we cannot hope to defeat, if the legends hold true, and if one of us is injured, there is no longer a healer among us. How can you make _jokes _about this?"

Gimli was quite discouraged by his friend's speech, especially when he considered the fact that this was an Elf who typically kept to himself and rarely strung more than three sentences together. He had never heard Legolas speak so pessimistically, or so quickly. It was unsettling. The Dwarf cleared his throat and tried to remain collected on the surface. "Everything you just rattled off comes down to a huge theory, Legolas, not a fact. You do not know for certain that Boromir is thinking along those lines. For all you know, he wants Aragorn to lead him to the city. Boromir might not be familiar with this area, either, for Eru's sake!"

"Regardless, Aragorn is gone, marching off to some fate that we cannot even begin to understand at the whims of a man driven to insanity by lust for that stupid Ring! Gimli, I know for a fact that Boromir is willing to kill over that Ring, and Aragorn is his captive now. For all we know, Aragorn is already dead, and it was _my_ fault."

"Legolas, this was not your fault." Gimli's voice was stern now. "Stop being ridiculous. You did everything you could. You saw things the rest of us failed to see. You tried to convince Boromir to change, and when he refused, you warned Aragorn of his intentions. What more could anyone ask of you?"

"I did not stop him!"

"You tried!"

"It wasn't enough!"

_"Legolas!" _Gimli hissed in a furious whisper. "This was _not your fault!_ You did not take the Ring! You did not take Aragorn! You did not deceive your friends! You did not betray us all! You did not throw the fate of this world into question! You are acting like a _fool_, and you know it! What good are you doing by blaming yourself? How will that help Aragorn?" The moment the last sentence fled Gimli's mouth, he knew he'd stepped over the line. He was rewarded accordingly as Legolas leveled a glare upon him that would have most scrambling for cover, but Gimli was no stranger to tolerating the Elf's ire and their eyes locked in a stare-down. Before long, the battle of wills ended, the shorter of the two emerging victorious. The taller, however, was not entirely deterred.

"I have to find Aragorn," Legolas declared. "I will continue to feel utterly useless until I do. He needed me to protect him, Gimli, and I failed him. I did not do everything in my power, and I will regret it forever if we do not locate our friend before it is too late."

The Dwarf had never been known to display any hesitation to speak his opinion in his life, but now he was reluctant. Still, it needed to be said. "I hate to warn you, Legolas, as I don't feel it is my place, but you are letting this need to find Aragorn consume you. I understand he is as a brother to you, but you cannot neglect your purpose here. You came on this journey with us to protect Frodo, and you pledged your bow to him when the Ring was in _his _keeping, but now he needs you even more than he did then."

His friend nodded his agreement, looking miserable. "I know. You are right, of course."

"You should talk to him. I think you two share the strongest need to find Boromir. For you, it may be about Aragorn first, and for the little one, it may be about the Ring first, but you still have that common ambition of locating that corrupt man of Gondor and setting things right again. Let Frodo know that you are there for him; everyone sees your protective nature around the Hobbit, but I suspect Frodo is too lost in fear and blame to do the same. Go, remind him." Gimli made a shooing gesture with both hands. "It's Frodo's watch now, anyway, and someone has to rouse him for it."

Legolas nodded, grateful to his friend for always knowing how to bring him back to reality. He watched as Gimli headed back to his bedroll, then got up himself and made his way to Frodo's chosen sleeping area, but was surprised to find it was empty. Puzzled, he took a quick scan of the campsite, then slipped away in search of his charge.

* * *

The Hobbit in question had isolated himself from the camp after Gimli's watch had ended. Frodo had been awake anyway and was tired of feeling useless and idle. He needed no reminder about his watch; he'd been waiting for it to come around so he'd have something to busy himself with. He had decided to lean against a tall tree and keep an eye and ear on the darkness, but nothing had happened so far and he felt fairly certain that his watch too would pass without event, so he allowed himself to relax for the first time in days. He felt invisible: something he had not experienced since the Ring was stolen away from him. The blackness of the night wrapped him in a cloak of anonymity, and it provided a deeply necessary moment of solitude. The Ringbearer needed time to reflect on his conversation with Sam. 

As time without finding Aragorn wore on, Frodo was becoming more pessimistic, and now was a bit more vocal about it. He had let the truth slip to Sam; he was losing hope, and still berating himself harshly for what had happened. His loyal friend, of course, had done everything in his power to reassure the Ringbearer that hope was still very much alive and that none of this was his fault. His gentle reminders had fallen on deaf ears, and Frodo had begun to feel even worse because he could not take Sam's encouragement to heart. It was a vicious cycle, and an unrelenting downward spiral, to be sure.

He was so caught up in his reliving of the debate that he failed to notice a dark figure approaching. A hand fell upon his slim shoulder, and Frodo jumped slightly with a soft yelp, lifting his startled eyes to find Legolas gazing at him apologetically. "Your pardon, Master Baggins," the Elf said quietly. "I did not mean to frighten you."

"You _do _have a rather unnerving way of appearing as if from nowhere." The Hobbit justified his reaction with a sheepish, but good-natured, grin.

Legolas chuckled. "Next time I promise to herald my arrival with trumpets."

Frodo laughed brightly, delighting the Elf into a dazzling smile of his own. "I would greatly appreciate that."

"I meant not to disturb your thoughts, as I can understand the need for solitude, especially in your case, but I wanted you to know, Frodo, that my foremost concern is you, even before Aragorn. I feel as though I might be neglecting your needs, and that is unfair. My first priority is your safety. I promised to serve you long before I promised to rescue Aragorn."

The Hobbit's face fell in sadness, and Legolas immediately regretted his words. The moment of mirth quickly faded into somberness. It did not surprise either of them, however, as this was becoming the norm for conversations between members of the Fellowship. It seemed as though, no matter what they were discussing, the depressing subject of Aragorn's capture or the troubling one of Boromir's betrayal always seemed to come up and cast a shadow over a half-decent mood. The Quest in general - and their latest predicament in particular - weighed heavily even upon the lightest of interactions.

Frodo seemed reluctant to voice an answer, but knew his friend deserved one. "I know you are concerned for me, and I am grateful, but I worry more for him. He is the one in danger."

"He will be fine. I cannot think of a reason that his death would benefit Boromir, if that's what you fear, and he's no stranger to fighting for survival anyway. He is a ranger, after all, and is accustomed to hardships."

"Legolas, how could this have happened? Poor Aragorn…taken captive…all alone…and we don't even know where he is." Frodo's voice broke in misery.

"Frodo, we will find him."

The Ringbearer sighed. "What will happen to him?"

"I do not know, but I have known Aragorn for a very long time, and I can tell you with absolutely certainty that he has not lost hope. Not for nothing was he named Estel."

"The Ring was my responsibility. I offered to take it to Mordor, to safeguard it from the Enemy and see that it was destroyed as it should have been so long ago. It was my burden to bear, and I allowed it to be stolen from me! I failed, Legolas."

"And you were Boromir's responsibility," Legolas reminded him. "He offered to safeguard _you_. It is he that failed. No one here blames you, my friend, and neither does Aragorn. Nor would he have you blaming yourself; of that, I assure you."

The Hobbit's smile was weak, but his blue eyes shone with gratitude. "Thank you for saying that."

"I would not if it were not true." The Elf clasped him on the shoulder. "I knew little of Hobbits before I met you and your three friends, and I must admit that I am still rather confused by your race. Your kind seems a bit…deceptive."

"Deceptive?" Frodo's brows drew together as he decided whether this was an insult or not.

"Aye," Legolas replied, "for you Halflings are awfully small to hold such big hearts."

Frodo's face broke into a beautiful grin.

"Sleep, Master Baggins. I will keep watch."

"Then I will sleep in peace, knowing I am in capable hands." Frodo began to head toward his bedroll, but then paused and turned around to face his Elven friend once more. "I admire your strength, Legolas. You have made a fine leader so far, and that was no easy task, I am sure. I do not know where you store this reserve of perseverance, but I find it encouraging."

"Well, I am no Ringbearer."

There was not a hint of sarcasm in the gentle tone, and Legolas's response warmed Frodo's heart, and the flattered Hobbit offered a modest shrug and a sweet, grateful chuckle. Then he turned and went back to the camp, his step lighter as he approached his spot. After settling down between Sam and Pippin, he realized it was much easier to find sleep with the weight of his worries lifted from his shoulders by the strength and resilience of an awe-inspiring Elf from Mirkwood.

* * *

Legolas's watch passed with blessed uneventfulness, as did Pippin's, and then Merry's, also. Sometime during the latter's vigil, the blackness of night gradually gave way to the pinkness of dawn, and as the morning sun rose into sight, the rest of the Fellowship stirred slowly to life. A meager breakfast was hastily consumed, and then preparations to embark for the day's worth of marching began. 

"Did you sleep well last night, Mr. Frodo?" Sam asked his master as he carefully stored away his cherished pots and cooking supplies.

Frodo paused in his task of rolling his blanket and looked to the front of the group, where Legolas was standing tall and straight. Ever the silent sentinel. "Yes, Sam," he replied with a soft smile as he cheerfully resumed his task. "I did."


	8. Misgivings

**Author's Note:**_ I own nothing and gain no profit from this piece, as always. I'm sorry for the ridiculously long delay between chapters, everyone, truly; real life can be SUCH a pain and I wanted to wait until my writer's block had subsided so I could compose something decent and not just crank out a lot of nonsense that wouldn't be worth the effort. Know that this story is still at the top of my list, and I promise to try to update sooner from here on out! Thank you for your patience, and for your continued support. Now...after MUCH adieu, on to the story!_

* * *

The Elf, the Dwarf, and the four Hobbits marched on. Days turned into weeks. After a month had passed without finding Aragorn, the morale of the remaining Fellowship began to plummet.

Even the two youngest Hobbits' complaints grew fewer, which worried Legolas most of all, as he knew them better than to think this was simply the result of their legs growing accustomed to the relentless use. They were losing hope. Frodo was still not eating as much as he needed to be, and Legolas found himself concerned for Sam when even the sound of his Elven voice lifted in song could not bring a smile to the gardener's drawn face. In Legolas's experience, Merry and Pippin were never quiet, Frodo ate with all the gusto of his kind, and anything an Elf did would enchant Sam. This was not like the Hobbits, and Legolas was not sure what to do to raise their spirits.

If he allowed himself to admit it, Legolas knew he fared no better. He ate little, slept little, said little, and trudged along with all the enthusiasm of a prisoner being taken to the hanging tree. He was burdened almost constantly with thoughts of Aragorn. It was tearing at him, ripping at his resolve, but he struggled to maintain some measure of hope. For the sake of those who followed him, he tried to keep his head held high. Privately, however, he was withering more each day.

* * *

On the forty-fifth day, by Legolas's reckoning, the Fellowship stopped for the night in a small grove of trees, hoping the darkness would be enough to conceal them from unwelcome eyes. 

As they all sat around the small fire and ate a hastily prepared stew, Gimli had announced that he was quite surprised they had not been attacked along the way yet. He admitted to an expectation of many Orc attacks and perhaps even a visit or two from the Ringwraiths. The Hobbits had all turned worried eyes to Legolas, who had shaken his head at the Dwarf and calmly continued eating. Valar forbid they should see that he was terrified of the very thing Gimli had spoken of. He lived in constant fear of it, and wanted nothing more than for their apparent good fortune to continue.

After a long silence, Frodo had spoken up, startling everyone, including Legolas. "You know, I'll just bet the mushrooms I found that Sam put in the stew are far bigger than Farmer Maggot's," he asserted. Legolas shot him a grateful look, knowing full well that the Ringbearer couldn't care less about the fungi comparison and was simply trying to divert the thoughts of his friends. Frodo smiled at him gently, then added, "Perhaps even better than your father's, Pippin."

That did it. Instantly the Hobbits were arguing about the merits of toadstools grown by various individuals, all worries of Orcs and Nazgûl apparently eased. The Elf suppressed an enormous sigh of relief, turning to Gimli to discuss their path for the next day.

After glancing surreptitiously around the camp as Gimli was trying to recall where the next water source would be, Legolas saw with no small amount of relief that the others had resumed eating and apparently calmed somewhat. He suppressed a sigh, hoping that they'd forget the Dwarf's comment and would not falter now. All he needed was for them to lose hope now. He needed them more than they realized; needed them for support and companionship and distraction.

* * *

Later that night, however, while taking his turn at watching over the small camp and without Frodo to distract him, Pippin could not rid himself of the feeling of misgiving that Gimli's words had brought to his heart. He began to pace around the perimeter of the camp, hoping that a little movement might distract him. As he approached the far edge, he was a bit relieved to find Legolas also awake, seated on a log near the fire, but this soon gave way to unease. 

Legolas sat hunched over in listless posture Pippin was not accustomed to seeing him display, his elbows resting on his thighs with his hands hanging limply between bent knees. His attention was focused on the dance of orange flames. The fire cast a weird, flickering radiance over his fair features; over the elegant brows drawn together in concentration, the blue eyes dull with distraction, and the pale lips forming a thin, taut line of determination.

He was hesitant to interrupt Legolas during what was obviously a moment of deep reflection. Still, resisting the urge to speak was not Pippin's greatest strength. "Mr. Legolas?" The title rolled strangely off his tongue; he'd never heard anyone but Sam use it, but he was unused to greeting the Elf. He mostly kept his conversation limited to the other Hobbits in the group, as being in the presence and undivided attention of warriors far superior to him made him uncomfortable, but he liked Gimli and Legolas all the same. He knew they were determined to protect him, and this consoled him, for he knew well their prowess in battle. He would much rather have them on his side than against it. So he spoke now to Legolas in the most deferential manner he could, hoping it'd be enough to ensure the continued support of the Elf.

"Doubtless you have heard me remind Sam that such formality is not necessary, Pippin." The only things that moved were his lips as he spoke. Still, his voice was gentle.

Pippin shifted uncomfortably as he admitted, "I never know how to address you. We do not talk often."

"Indeed," Legolas said. "And I assume you seek now to remedy that, at such a strange hour?" His tone was light.

Pippin smiled. "I just couldn't sleep and wanted to ask you a question."

Not surprised in the least —Pippin always seemed to possess an unlimited reserve of questions— Legolas nodded. "I will do my best to answer."

The Hobbit took a deep breath. "Do you agree with Gimli?"

The Elf stiffened a little. He knew that the Dwarf's words would unsettle the little ones, but he figured they'd soon disappear from their minds. Apparently, they were not so easily forgotten — not even by Pippin, who possessed the memory span of a turnip. Legolas frowned. How to diplomatically answer without lying? Finally he settled for something completely neutral. "You need not worry, Pippin. Regardless of what the future holds, know that your life and the lives of your friends are foremost in my mind."

The cryptic response did nothing to ease Pippin's worries. "You did not answer my question," he said quietly.

Legolas shrugged. "I am not gifted with foresight. I cannot predict what will happen. I only know that I am prepared for anything, and that Gimli and I will let no harm come to the four of you Halflings."

Pippin was studying his hands; the fingers of which were twisting nervously around each other. "Before Gimli said those things, I only worried about Strider's safety. I didn't even think we could be in danger. I thought the Orcs would leave us alone. Frodo no longer has the Ring." He paused for a moment, then added, "Why _would _they come after us? We are of no threat or importance to Saruman or Sauron now."

"This is not about Saruman or Sauron. This is about Boromir, and Boromir knows that I will go to the very ends of Arda to find my friend. I _am_ of threat to Boromir. He may try to eliminate me. He likely thinks I am alone, which may work to our advantage should we be attacked."

"Leave it to an Elf to find an advantage in being attacked," Pippin muttered.

Legolas hid a smile; he sounded exactly like Gimli. Composing himself and refraining from remarking on the Hobbit's apparent Dwarvish tendencies, he explained, "The advantage would be that Boromir would probably send a very small party of Orcs to annihilate me, and we might outnumber them. I do not know."

"I fear the Ringwraiths more, Legolas. They are terrifying."

The Elf shook his head. "If the Wraiths come, it would be of Sauron's doing, not Boromir's. Boromir does not control the Nine. I somehow doubt Sauron would send the Nazgûl after me, as Boromir has the Ring and intends to use it for his own purposes, and therefore is now in direct opposition to Sauron. I cannot imagine why Sauron would care whether I lived or died. His issue is now with Boromir, so perhaps we can even hope that the Dark Lord will send the Nine after_ Boromir."_

Pippin's face lit up. "That would be wonderful indeed. Even with the Ring, Boromir would be in great peril if he had to face the Ringwraiths. Having the Ring did not protect Frodo, after all. Perhaps if Boromir was forced to confront the Nine, Aragorn would have a chance to escape."

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves, Master Peregrin. We must press on as if Aragorn has no chance other than our rescue effort."

"Still, it is nice to consider the possibility."

Legolas nodded absently, staring again into the dying fire.

"You need not accompany me further, Pippin," the Elf said, his tone gentle. "Each step you take at my side is voluntary. I will not resent or judge you should you choose to turn back. There is no shame in fear."

"I fear, without shame, what may happen, but I know you will do all that you can to prevent harm from coming to any of us. Each step I take at your side is that of a friend's."

"And invaluable." Legolas smiled. "Now, sleep, Pippin. Your watch is over, and you need to rest."

The Took looked at his friend for a long moment, then said simply, "We will find him, Legolas. You'll see." With that, he got up off the log and headed back to his place between Merry and Sam.

Touched, Legolas watched him make his way back to his bedroll. "Goodnight, Master Peregrin," he murmured quietly, and the Hobbit lifted a hand over his shoulder to acknowledge the sentiment.

* * *

When Legolas went to rouse Frodo to take the next watch, he was surprised to find him already awake. Frodo was sitting up, staring off into the darkness. He jumped a little when Legolas tapped him carefully on the shoulder, startled although the Elf had made every effort to approach loudly. Legolas murmured an apology, then whispered, "Why aren't you asleep, Ringbearer?" 

The Hobbit said nothing at first, simply lifting the elven sword his uncle had bestowed upon him for the Elf to inspect. Legolas's heart stopped as his eyes fell on the short blade. It was glowing. The implications were enough to make his blood run cold. _Ai, Gimli, you had to curse us with premature relief..._

"Orcs." Frodo quietly stated the obvious, impassively watching as Legolas reached for his twin knives. The blue light emanating from Sting cast a surreal glow over Frodo's face, which was unnervingly devoid of expression. The Hobbit sighed. "They have come for me."

"I suspect failure will not sit well with them," Legolas murmured. He cocked his head to one side, listening. "Six," he announced softly after a moment.

Frodo gaped at his friend. "Six?!" he squeaked, his voice rising in volume. "There are six?!"

Legolas clapped a hand over the Ringbearer's mouth, looking around warily. "Yes, six, and all six likely just heard you," he scolded gently.

Frodo winced. "Sorry," he whispered. "But Legolas, if there are six, we stand no chance. We cannot hope to fight them. Sam is a gardener, and Merry and Pippin seem best suited for quarreling. I only have Sting and do not have a single clue how to wield it. You and Gimli are the only ones who can hold your own in a spar, and although I think you both are perfectly capable, a half-dozen is a daunting figure for two of even the mightiest warriors."

"That will not stop us from trying. You four Halflings are our charges. It is our duty to protect you, and believe me, Frodo, Gimli and I do not take our duties lightly. We will fall before we fail. We will die defending you if need be, but we will not go down without a vicious fight."

"I cannot ask you to do this."

"You never did," Legolas answered softly. "We pledged of our own accord, Frodo. Aragorn, Boromir, Gimli, and myself. We vowed to keep you from harm. Boromir may have broken his word, but I swear to you, Ringbearer, the rest of us will not."

"I do not want anyone to value my life above their own." The Hobbit's voice was choked, and his fingers tightened their grip on the hilt of Sting.

"Hopefully it will never come to that," Legolas mused, his eyes searching the darkness. "I would ask that you rouse the others and alert them to the impending danger. Be discreet, Frodo, and do not allow them to panic. Take your friends and hide. Have Gimli report to me." His hand fell on the Ringbearer's shoulder. "Whatever you hear, remain hidden. Understand? Promise me you will not reveal yourself."

Frodo nodded as a lump rose in his throat. "I promise."

Legolas studied him for a moment, then continued. "If the worst should happen, wait until silence claims the vicinity once more and then quietly lead the others back to Lothlorien. Do you recall the way? Could you double back and retrace the journey to the Golden Wood?"

"With Sam's help, yes."

"I am glad to hear it," the Elf answered. His voice was growing more urgent by the word. "Now be gone! The Uruks approach!"

Without another word, Frodo leaped to his feet and dashed back toward camp. Legolas watched his departure, then took a deep, steadying breath. They were coming. He hoped Gimli would reach the area in time to lend his ax to what would surely be a terrible confrontation.

* * *

_** To be continued...**_


	9. Hesitatation

**Author's Note**** - **_No profit is made by this piece, as usual. I've been trying to do about a million things at once lately, but I've been steadily working my way through this chapter, so I hope it fits in decently with the rest of the story. It's a little disjointed, but that's the point, so bear with me if you can. Enjoy!_

* * *

Frodo tore into camp as if the Uruks were hot on his heels. When he arrived, Merry and Pippin were sparring with severed branches, and Sam was speaking quietly with Gimli. All four looked up and froze, startled, as he made his hasty return. 

"It's Legolas!" Frodo gasped breathlessly, his wild blue eyes locking on Gimli, who was immediately on his feet. "Orcs approach! They're..." He sank to his knees in exhaustion from his flight, trying to suck as much air as possible into his aching lungs before attempting to speak again. "They're coming for us! _Six _of them! Legolas needs your help! Hurry, Gimli! They may already be upon him!"

Needing no further encouragement, the Dwarf hastened out of the camp. Frodo scrambled to his feet and lurched forward just in time to catch Pippin about the waist as the Took attempted to follow. "No, Pippin, we must stay here," he insisted as his friend struggled, looking confused.

Pippin shook his head. "We can't just hide while they're battling Orcs! They need our help!"

Merry spoke up. "Pip, they need to focus. We'd be a distraction. Gimli and Legolas would be too worried about our safety to concentrate fully on the fight."

Pippin relaxed slightly, realizing that Merry was right. They'd be more of a liability than anything.

And so the Halflings settled back into a small circle around the long-dead fire, their ears and eyes seeking any sound or sight that would alert them to the appearance of their friends or foes.

* * *

Meanwhile, Gimli reached Legolas in record time, but the Orcs had beaten him there. They had encircled the Elf like a pack of hungry Wargs, and were rapidly closing in. He watched, horrified, as the distance between the ring of enemies and his friend lessened to five feet. Then four. They were almost upon him now. Their long blades gleamed in the moonlight, but the predatory looks on their faces did not frighten the Dwarf nearly as much as the resigned, hopeless look on the Elf's. 

Legolas held his strung bow at his side, and was making no attempt to reach for an arrow. _What are you _doing_, fool? _Gimli thought desperately, wanting to scream but afraid to give his presence away. _Use your bow! Shoot them! Don't just _stand _there!_

Finally, he could take it no longer. He had to act. Legolas still wasn't moving, and the Orcs were not likewise attempting to be statues. So, howling a Dwarven war-cry, Gimli rushed headlong into the fray, neatly severing the head of one Orc without so much as a flicker of hesitation.

Suddenly, Legolas broke free from his stupor. It was as if the appearance of his friend brought him back to life, and he was a blur of motion as he dropped into a fighting stance, long knives drawn and ready.

They fought with the parallel, separate teamwork of two warriors who'd fought against all odds for months and months. The Orcs were not prepared for this, and soon found themselves huddled together and without the certainty that their outnumbering advantage would work unflinchingly in their favor. They had underestimated the prowess of the Elf, and the Dwarf was not helping matters.

After a particularly intense exchange of blows and blocks, Gimli chanced a look at Legolas. For all his hesitation before, he certainly displayed none now, his twin blades slicing through muscle and bone so gracefully they might as well have been ribbons trailed through rushing water.

Less than ten minutes later, the Orcs lay in a heap, all either dead or dying. Legolas and Gimli surveyed their success with the detached interest that held no arrogance or joy. It was just another fight they had miraculously won; another obstacle they had overcome to be rewarded with the chance to live another day. Nothing special to them anymore. Battles, large or small, did not seem glorious or valiant to them after having lived so long and survived through so many.

Gimli swept the blood-darkened blade of his ax through a patch of dry grass before he checked up on his friend, who doubtlessly was drained by this point. So much had happened, and truth be told, Gimli worried a little for Legolas's mental stamina and capacity. Even the spirit of a Firstborn could break —would break— eventually. What the Dwarf saw did not hearten him.

The Elf stood so stiffly, it was as if he held himself up by force of will alone. His strength was obviously not in his voice when he murmured, "We should get back. The Hobbits will be expecting us."

Gimli recognized this as an intended distraction, and would have none of it. There were important matters to address first, and he was not about to be deterred. "The Hobbits can wait."

"Master Dwarf, if you intend to scold me, you mi—"

Gimli cut him off abruptly. _"What _was that?" he demanded, hands settling firmly on his hips as his dark eyes flashed.

Legolas seemed to have predicted such a reaction, and so was maddeningly unfazed by it. His voice was quiet and dismissive as he replied, "I was distracted. I could not put all my attention into the fight."

"You were _just_ _standing there_, you idiot Elf!" Gimli reminded him, a little too harshly. "_What_ could be more important than defending yourself?"

"I hesistated," Legolas answered flatly.

"You've never hesitated before!" The Dwarf looked as if he might explode at any second.

"Gimli, let it go. I appreciate your timely assistance, and am relieved that, with your help, we bested the Orc party. That is all there is to say. Let it go."

"Is it that you don't have Aragorn to monitor, so you allow your mind to wander?" The moment the words left his mouth, Gimli hated himself for uttering them, especially when he saw something break in Legolas' eyes.

There was a long silence as the Elf regarded the Dwarf. "That," Legolas said at last, "I did not deserve."

Gimli was too caught up to stop himself now. He kept right on scolding his friend in this vein. "What other excuse will suffice, Legolas? You _never _hesitate! One is led only to assume you have lost interest in preserving yourself because your friend has vanished! I know that Aragorn was —_is_ critical to this mission, but there are _others _here that need y_ou!"_

"You know better!" Legolas exploded, displaying true, consuming frustration for the first time since Boromir had disappeared with their friend. "You _know _better, Gimli! How dare you insinuate that I would allow others to fall if only to spare Aragorn?"

"Legolas, you just _stood _there and—"

The Elf cut him off by raising one hand, his eyes downcast. Gimli surprised him by heeding the gesture, but Legolas did not, would not, look up. His eyes were stinging, and he did not wish to reveal his weakness. His fiery temper had simmered, but the tears were more than hot enough to make up for it. A few minutes of silence dragged by before the Elf saw fit to speak again, and this time his tone was considerably softer; almost a whisper, actually, but the hushed words managed to make Gimli's heart scream in misery. "I monitor theFellowship, Master Dwarf. The _entire _Fellowship. I do not focus on Aragorn _or_ Frodo alone, despite their former importance as leader and Ring-bearer. Each one of you is significant in my heart. There are no priorities among equals." His voice caught, and he swallowed down his emotions before he went on. "I may have known Aragorn longest, but he means no more to me than you do, and you know how brief our friendship has been to date. I would tirelessly pursue your abductor should you, Valar forbid, be taken from my side. If you were slain, my efforts to avenge would be fueled by my overwhelming grief. I would do everything in my power to keep you safe, Gimli, and you know it. Aragorn, as much as I care for him, means no more to me than anyone who embarked on this journey."

Gimli said nothing. His soul was aching. He'd known all this, known it better than Legolas might ever believe at this point, but one moment of pure, unadulterated stupidity had made his beloved friend think Gimli questioned his unflinching loyalty. _Mahal, put the proper response in my mouth. _The god was not forthcoming, and the Dwarf's chagrin mounted.

Legolas closed his eyes. The lull was killing him, and if Gimli would not reply, he felt obligated to continue. His voice now was bordering on defeated. "In my panic, I had forgotten that I am needed, that I have a purpose...that others care about me. I suppose on some level, I just gave up a little. While the Orcs were approaching, I could not stop thinking about Amon Hen and how Aragorn was taken away by these vile creatures. I was missing him so much at that moment, it was hard to breathe or think, let alone wield a weapon." When Gimli remained silent, his dark eyes studying the Elf's face, Legolas shifted uneasily and continued. "Then you came along, and I remembered what I still had to fight for."

Finally, the Dwarf spoke again. "Do not hesitate again," he said flatly, giving the other a no-nonsense scowl to punctuate his point. "I mean it, Legolas. Never again."

Legolas heard the tender undertones in the gruff response, and fought to keep a straight face as he answered solemnly, "Upon my word, never again will I hesitate."

Gimli gave a cursory glance around the clearing. "We should get back," he posited, "before more Uruks appear." Legolas nodded, his eyes tracing the same path the Dwarf's had, then led the way back to the campsite. Both pretended to be completely casual, but they were shaken to the core by what had happened, and even if they'd never admit it to each other, they'd have to square it within their own hearts eventually. They were dreading this inevitable reality.

* * *

The Hobbits got quickly to their feet when the duo reappeared. 

Gimli immediately sat down on the ground, huffing out a breath that sounded rather frustrated before announcing loudly to no one in particular, "The Orcs have been dispatched. It was a small party, and I suspect there will be more, so my advice is to keep a wary eye out."

Legolas decided to distance himself a few feet away, not in the mood for an onslaught of questions and evidently of the opinion that acting aloof would be the best way to avoid this. He leaned against a tree, crossing his arms and his ankles, and lifted his gaze into the branches that hung above his head. The expression of calm stoicism that had manifested itself over the Elf's fine features was the truest testament to his willpower.

Sam was next to pipe up. "I speak for the four of us when I say that I'm relieved those Orcs didn't kill you, Mr. Legolas."

The Elf turned soft eyes to the gardener, a ghost of a smile flitting across his lips as he replied, "I appreciate that, Master Samwise. All the same, I don't think those Orcs were sent to kill me."

Gimli stared hard at his friend. "They weren't sent to make polite conversation with you, Legolas."

"If they had wanted to kill me, they would have."

"I was there," the Dwarf said, his tone bordering on insulted as he stood again, frowning up at the Elf.

Legolas sensed that he was treading on his friend's dignity and quickly put a hand on his shoulder, seeking to remedy the slight. "I know, dear friend, and for that, I am grateful. You were, as always, an invaluable spirit to have beside me in battle. However, if they had truly wanted to do away with me, they would have brought long-distance weapons and felled me from afar. You would not have been able to get there fast enough. But they brought swords. They engaged me in hand-to-hand combat. They _wanted _me to fight back. They were looking for a confrontation."

"Orcs are always looking for a confrontation," Gimli grumbled.

"They wanted to slow me, not slay me."

"I thought they just wanted to get to Gondor as fast as possible," the Dwarf mused out loud, tugging at his auburn beard irritably. "They have to know we're at least a day and a half behind their precious leader Boromir, so why bother? Why backtrack?"

"Maybe they still thought Frodo had the Ring?" Pippin ventured.

"No, because Boromir sent them," Gimli pointed out. "They knew he had the Ring. Frodo is of no value to them."

Frodo winced and refrained from telling the group that it seemed he was of no value to anyone these days.

Merry spoke up for the first time during this discussion. "I think Boromir is overreacting because he's afraid."

Legolas sighed. "He has nothing to fear. His possession of the Ring makes him the most powerful creature in these lands, Master Meriadoc."

Merry worried his lower lip for a moment. "Surely someone could stop him. Frodo was not invincible when _he _had the Ring."

"Definitely not against those Ringwraiths," Sam agreed.

When the Hobbits all began shifting nervously, recalling that harrowing experience, Legolas wasted no time in changing the subject, although he later would regret his new choice more. "Only an Istar—" He paused when the others' eyes glazed over with confusion, then amended, "A wizard, that is, would have a chance at stopping him. And with Mithrandir de—" Miserably, he cleared his throat and doggedly continued, altering his terminology for the second time, but this time for _his _benefit. "With Mithrandir _gone_, he knows none are strong enough to oppose him. Even Saruman —even_ Sauron— _can only send Orcs after him, and as long as Boromir has the Ring, the Orcs will stand no chance against him. He knows this. He knows that all he must do is reach Gondor. He need only convince his father to step down, and the people to denounce Aragorn and accept Boromir as king. Then he will have the support of his city, and an army of awed, loyal followers worthy of defeating any who dare stand in his path."

Sam piped up. "Then I don't see why he even cares about stopping you, Mr. Legolas. Seems to me you are of no threat to him."

The Elf sighed. "He knows I will come after him. Perhaps no one else may be bold enough to oppose him, but he _knows_ I will do all that is in my power to help Aragorn."

* * *

**_To be continued..._**


End file.
